Prometheus Rising
by White Mizerable
Summary: Alfred Jones will do anything to protect humanity, even if they hate him for what he is. Arthur Kirkland may be the one thing that will force him to survive, not for others, but for himself. Dark Fantasy AU. USUK. HIATUS- POSSIBLE DISCONTINUATION
1. Prologue Redone

On the fourth day of the seventh month, in the midst of the worst storm the country had seen in years, a baby boy was born in the tiny village of Agrinas. His mother died only minutes after childbirth. She barely had the strength to look at her son, but when he opened big blue eyes to stare back at her, she managed a sincere, joyous smile. "My boy," she whispered. "My little boy." Her gaze met that of her husband one final time, and her smile grew, but also saddened. "Our little boy."

And then she was gone.

The father gathered his baby to his chest, looking down at the oddly silent child. "Our little boy," he repeated gravely. The child grasped his finger and squeezed, and a toothless grin spread across that face. The man couldn't help but smile back. "Our little boy."

Though the father raised his son just the same as the other children in the village, the boy always seemed a bit strange. By the time he was six years old, he was just about five feet tall. At the age of twelve, he had already surpassed six feet. At first, this was nothing but helpful for the rest of the townsfolk. The smith had him pumping bellows, the old widow asked him to chop wood, the farmers requested his help in moving stubborn mules. His naturally strong body became even stronger, until he could actually lift the blacksmith's anvil and carry it across town without once stopping to rest.

But of course, there came a time when the boy's unnatural growth stopped being useful, and began to arouse suspicion among his fellows. On the eve of his fifteenth birthday, just as his height was about to reach seven feet, the boy was surrounded by a group of children his age. Though none of them were nearly as tall as he was, he shrank back from them. He was not an idiot. He knew what they were there for.

"Freak!"

"Demon!"

"Monster!"

The last one stuck, and they continued to jeer it at him as they drew closer and closer. He curled into himself as best he could, whispering pleas for them to stop. No one listened. The first thing to hit him was a rock, a smooth stone picked from the ground that glanced off his cheek. He cried out in pain, and as if that was the signal for them to continue, they all fell upon him. Blurred faces of his assailants flashed before his eyes. His body was being pummeled from all sides. His heartbeat rang in his ears.

When the villagers were finally drawn by the screams, they found the boy kneeling in the middle of the circle of children. His face was buried in his hands. His attackers lay sprawled around him, clutching at their heads and limbs, sobbing through their bloodied lips. As the villagers ran around him, gathering their injured children into their arms, the boy rocked back and forth, muffling his whimpers with his palms. Blood- blood that wasn't his, the others had only managed to bruise him- stained his fingers. The shouting around him grew louder. One of the children was not moving or crying, no matter how much his wailing mother shook him.

The child was buried two days later. The boy and his father were not granted the right to attend the funeral.

"What am I?" the boy asked his father desperately.

The man gathered him as close as he could. "My son," he whispered. "You're my son."

But the boy pulled away. "How can I be your son? Look at me!" He held out his hands. They were raw and sore, having been scrubbed clean over and over again, yet he could still see the bloodstains. "I'm a monster."

The father simply shook his head, eyes wide and sad behind the glass of his spectacles, and gently grasped his son's tattered hands, holding them close. That day, the two of them gathered up whatever belongings they could carry and disappeared into the woods. The villagers did not search for them, but every man, woman, and child kept a wary eye on the ever-shifting shadows at the forest's edge.

Years passed, and there formed a cautious truce between the people of Agrinas and the family in the woods. That is, until two travelers ventured into the town. They claimed to have been sent there by the king himself. The boy- though he wasn't really a boy anymore, he was a man- watched them from under the cover of the forest. They looked similar to the old priest, dressed in draping robes and wooden sandals, but the chains they wore around their necks were unfamiliar to him. The villagers welcomed them with open arms, and for a few days, all was peaceful.

It happened almost silently. Not even the closest town knew about what had transpired, until it was far too late. A wandering merchant, who had traveled that way many times before and who knew the people of Agrinas quite well, was the first to come across the remains of the town. He could barely speak of the horrors he saw there, among the fires and rubble and broken bodies, but his babbled account traveled quickly through the land.

Agrinas was destroyed. The dead littered the ground, shredded into so many pieces that you could no longer tell if the bodies had been human. What buildings still stood creaked and shuddered within the roaring flames that consumed them. The scent of decay smoldered in the air. And, on the other side of the inferno, a demon man, dripping with dark blood, stood and watched it all. His eyes, the merchant claimed, were black and stormy as thunderclouds, his teeth sharp as knives. He had stared at the merchant with fury etched into his very being, and the merchant had fled for his life.

Though the neighboring townsfolk came immediately to douse the fires and bury what remained of the dead, carrying their sharpest weapons against the monster the merchant had seen, the demon man was nowhere to be seen. No one dared to check the surrounding forest. Had they done so, they might have come across the gutted remains of a small cottage, and beside it a small grave on which was planted a single, delicate flower.

But the people of Agrinas were gone, and with them went the memory of the boy named Alfred.

* * *

A/N- And there you have it- a new beginning. It's not much different than the last one, I know, but the differences are there, and they're important. This version of the story is going to be a lot darker than the previous one. Things are going to change, hopefully for the better.

Thank you so much for all the supportive comments, you guys. You're all amazing, and I promise you, I'm not going to waste this second chance you're giving me. I hope you'll enjoy this version of Prometheus Rising as much as you did the last one.

Also, I've started up a little Tumblr page for this story, in order to help myself manage the absolutely amazing fanart some of you have drawn me. Feel free to check it out if you want, and also to leave me some comments, questions, or critiques. I'm open to whatever you want to throw at me.

http: / prometheus-rising. tumblr. com/ (Take out the spaces.)

Thanks again for everything!


	2. Chapter 1: Age of Discovery

"Damn it!" The door to the chapel slammed open, and out stormed a furious young priest. His sandals clunked against the solid wood floor, echoing down the hallway. As he went, he viciously pulled off the golden chain wrapped around his neck, scowling down at the sun pendant dangling from the end.

"Brother Kirkland!" Hurried footsteps chased him down the hallway, but he did not look back. "Brother Kirkland, if you do not turn around this instant, you will be banned from the Order! Do you understand me? Brother Kirkland!"

The priest stopped abruptly and whirled around, green eyes burning with anger. "I understand you perfectly. Ban me if you want! What do I care? I would leave even if you were not punishing me. This- This place, this thing-" He gestured wildly at the decorated molding of the walls around them. "It all makes me sick. I'm not- I cannot-" He let out a frustrated huff, but his glare didn't lessen in power. "I am leaving. Don't try to stop me." With that, he turned on his heel and strode down the rest of the hallway and up the short flight of stairs. No footsteps followed him.

He threw the door to his small room open and moved immediately over to his bed, throwing the sun pendant onto the bedcovering. He knelt to dig underneath the bed for the only satchel he owned, kicking off his wooden sandals in the process. As he sat there, the rough leather in his hands, he found himself frowning at the pendant in front of him. The golden sun- not true gold, but copper, painted- glittered in the early morning sunlight shining through his small window. Its gleam was taunting him, mocking him, daring him to walk away from everything he knew. His hands tightened their hold on the satchel.

"I'm leaving," he snarled at the pendant. It didn't reply, but the gleam did not fade. Cursing, the priest grabbed it and shoved it into his satchel. He could still feel it there, watching him, but he pushed the thoughts aside and reached back under the bed to find his old day clothes, the ones he used to wear before he joined the priesthood. He hoped they would still fit. Frowning down at the shirt and tunic in his hands, he decided that it didn't really matter. He would rather walk out of the Church in clothes too small, than in the robes of an order he no longer believed in. With that in mind, he set about unlacing his belt and tugging his robe over his head.

As the thick fabric pooled on the ground by his feet, there was a quiet knock on the door. The priest looked up from where he'd been gathering up his old shirt. "Toris," he greeted, pulling the shirt over his head.

The other priest nodded slightly. "Arthur." He hesitated, glancing back out towards the stairs. "Is it true? Are you leaving us?"

The priest- Arthur- finished pulling down his shirt. "Yes, I am. I can't stay here any longer."

"I see." Toris watched as he slid the tunic on overtop. Though he said nothing more, the unspoken questions hovered in the air between them.

Arthur sighed, crouching back down to slip his nightshirt and spare breeches into the satchel. He made certain that they were covering the pendant at the bottom before searching for his old leather boots. "You were there, Toris. Did you not see what they were doing? Or do you simply not care about it?"

"I was there, yes," Toris said slowly. His gaze slid pointedly away from Arthur, focusing on some indistinct point at the other side of the room. "And I did see."

"Then it's true. You don't care."

Toris shook his head. "That's not entirely correct, Arthur. I do care, but I do not think I care about the same thing as you."

"What happened to you, Toris?" Arthur asked, rising to his now boot-clad feet again, satchel in hand. "When we first met, you were a brilliant young scribe, always curious and questioning anything told to you. And then you changed." He kept his gaze away from the other priest as well as he gathered up what few belongings were his and not the Church's. "Now you are just like the rest of them- cold, vain, and willing to destroy for the sake of some god."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing," Toris countered. "This is what the Church does. We do what we have to in order to spread our message across the land. I thought you understood that."

"Funny, I thought I did too. For these past five years, I thought I understood exactly what the Church was, exactly what it meant and what it stood for. It seems I was wrong." Their eyes locked, sharp as blades. "I never realized how low they- how low you would stoop to spread your religion."

Silence burned between them as Arthur hefted his satchel up onto his back. He stood there in the center of the room he had called his for years- the room he had thought he could spend the rest of his life in- and felt a cold tendril of regret spike through him. He could turn back. He could apologize, and swear never to question the Church or its teachings again, and he could once again be a member of this order. But he could not. Something in him refused to allow him to back down. Arthur took in a deep breath, staring fiercely at the man in his doorway. "Are you going to move aside, or will I have to force you?"

Toris raised his eyebrows. "Force me? I never thought you would threaten me, Arthur. Are we not friends?" He paused. "Then again, I never expected you to turn your back on the Church, either. Perhaps I don't know you as well as I thought." With a slight incline of his head, he stepped aside and gestured towards the stairs. "Please, don't let me stop you from leaving."

Arthur strode past him. For barely an instant, their eyes met, and in that moment Arthur saw the Toris he had met five years ago, the sweet and shy young man who had been his closest friend and constant companion. Arthur's steps faltered. "Things really have changed, haven't they?"

"Yes, they have." And Arthur knew he was not imagining the wistfulness in Toris' voice. "If this is really what you want, Arthur, I cannot support you in it. But I can wish you luck in whatever path you choose."

"Thank you." Arthur meant it. He turned and moved forward, away from the man who had once been his friend, away from the robes left wrinkled and dirty on the floor, away from his life, and towards an uncertain future.

The priests had gathered to watch him go. They lined the hallway, nearly identical in their draping robes and cowls, sun pendants dangling against the stark fabric. Arthur passed through the aisle they had left him, only just wide enough for him to fit. He felt their eyes, even hidden beneath their cowls, accusing him wordlessly, and he ignored them all. He held his chin high, refusing to look at any of the shadowed faces. Up ahead of him was the grand iron door that led out into the village. Once he stepped through that door, there would be no turning back.

As he drew nearer to it, Arthur heard the sound of wooden sandals clicking in the crowd, and turned his head to see the head priest approaching him. His hands were folded into his long sleeves. He regarded Arthur with an unreadable expression. "So you are truly leaving us, my son?"

"I am not your son," Arthur said, as respectfully as possible. "But yes, I'm leaving." His hand tightened almost imperceptibly around the strap of his satchel.

The head priest did not seem to notice. "I see. This is very disappointing, you must understand. You were one of our most promising disciples." He frowned. "You had such greatness to look forward to."

Arthur could not help but snort slightly. "Greatness? I fail to see anything great about staying in this order."

A murmur of protest rose up in the crowd around them, but the head priest raised one hand to silence it. "That is dangerous speech, my son," he said sternly. "Words such as those can come back to haunt you. Be careful what you choose to say."

Arthur scowled. "Words? Believe me, I know about the power of words." He shook his head in disgust, gesturing towards the chapel door. "I saw all the proof I needed of the power of words this morning."

The head priest's face tightened, his eyes narrowing. "What happened this morning was a perfect example of how to deal with dangerous words. It is our responsibility as the Church, as the guide for hundreds of people, to dispose of anything harmful to them."

"Harmful to who? The people?" Arthur snorted again. "The people would not be harmed by those words! No one would, save for the Church itself. Destroying those-"

"This is why you are leaving?" the high priest interrupted, voice rising in volume. "Because you do not believe in one of the most basic and sacred duties of this Church?"

"Yes!" Arthur yelled back at him. "Yes! I am leaving because you burned those books!" His hands clenched into fists. "Do you have any idea of the knowledge you destroyed? Some of those books were older than any of us present. You've thrown aside the teachings of years and years of men. Do you not think that the people could have benefited from those?"

"No, they would not have! Those books were written by heretics, by men not of the faith. They were worth nothing!"

Arthur's mouth opened and closed, but no words escaped. "You ignorant fool," he finally managed. "Those books can never be replaced. You have destroyed far more than you can realize."

"They were worth nothing," the head priest repeated, eyes daring Arthur to argue again. Around them, the other priests had begun to gather closer, forming a threatening circle.

Arthur glared around at them, before directing his gaze back to the head priest. "Someday," he snarled, low and pointed, "someday you will regret what you have done. Mark my words." He turned, shoving through the priests standing between him and the door, pressing his full weight against it in order to force it open. Sunlight shone onto the gathering of priests, making their robes appear almost pure white. Arthur spared them once last glance. Far in the back, towards the stairs, stood one man with his hood down, brown hair brushing against his shoulders. Toris met his eyes and raised his hand in farewell.

It was final. Arthur turned away from the assembled priests, away from the great hall, and stepped out into the world.

* * *

Word traveled fast, and by the time evening fell, Arthur could find no lodgings for the night. Every inn he tried turned him away, some with harsh looks, others with harsher words. Arthur did not bother trying to fight with them. He had made his choice, and they had made theirs.

Darkness settled around him as he made his way down the streets of Lamglen. The sky was cloudy that night, and the only light shone from various torches set here and there along the walls of buildings. A few men hurried past him, back towards their homes and families. The wooden wall surrounding the village loomed up before him. He was approaching the edge of Lamglen, and the beginning of the forest.

Arthur drew to a halt just before the gate. He ignored the gatekeeper's accusing stare, and instead focused up at the flimsy wooden structure- the only thing standing between him and the unknown. He shifted the weight of his satchel slightly. Lamglen was no longer a friendly home to him, but he could not help the feelings of trepidation that bloomed within him at the thought of what waited beyond the gate. The forest was a vast, dark, mysterious place, full of the demons of yore. He had heard hundreds of tales of men venturing into the forest and straying just slightly off the path. Those men were never seen again. And now that he was no longer a member of the Church, and he no longer had the divine protection of the Great One, he was just as prone to those misfortunes as any other man. His thoughts flickered back to the pendant in his bag, but he forced them away.

"Well?" the gatekeeper snapped, forcing him from his musings. "Are you going to leave or what?"

Arthur scowled at him. "Open the gate."

"Of course, sir." With a mocking bow, the gatekeeper shuffled forward and unlatched the gate's heavy iron bolt. It slid aside with a muffled thud. The gatekeeper pressed both hands against the old wood and shoved it open.

There it was. Barely thirty feet from the walls of Lamglen, the forest rose up like some wild beast into the dark sky. Arthur could make out the faint silhouettes of twisted trees, of thorny underbrush. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he almost believed he could see the moving shapes of beasts, the creatures of the night. The fear rose up once again in his stomach.

"Well, be off with you, then!" the gatekeeper demanded after a moment. Arthur was pleased to hear the same fear in the man's voice. "I can't keep this gate open all night."

"Of course not." Arthur hefted his satchel more securely over his shoulder and, after only a mere second of hesitation, moved forward. In two steps, he was level with the gatekeeper. Their gazes connected, sharing their fear, and the gatekeeper nodded. Another two steps, and Arthur was level with the gate, standing on the very edge of Lamglen, at the brink of the wild. And he stepped forward again, and again, until he heard the gate begin to creak closed behind him. He did not turn around, for he knew that if he did, he would run back inside like a dog with its tail between its legs and beg for forgiveness. The heavy thud of the iron bolt locking into place rang through his ears.

He was alone.

Arthur stood there for several long minutes, allowing the night winds to tug and curl around his clothes and hair. The dark silhouette of the forest- only the forest, for giving it a name would only make it more frightening- beckoned to him. Some unknown beast howled in the distance. Arthur took in a deep breath, closing his eyes as he exhaled, and began to walk. He made certain to keep his feet within the boundaries of the dirt path even before he passed beneath the first boughs. The men who kept to the track were those who survived the journey.

He slowly entered into the darkness of the woods. The forest's long branches almost seemed to reach out in a twisted welcome, enveloping him in a black embrace. A violent shudder rolled down his spine, and for the first time, he turned to look back over his shoulder. Lamglen stood peacefully behind him, lit by the small pockets of warmth given off by its torches. Arthur swallowed heavily and faced forward once again. There was no going back.

As he moved forward, the forest grew ever more thick around him. Not even the tiny gleam of light from the cloud-covered moon managed to pierce the heavy boughs. Leaves rustled in the darkness, and the soft footsteps of invisible creatures seemed to echo through the tree trunks. Arthur's grip tightened around the strap of his satchel. Every few steps, he peered downwards to make sure he was still on the path. The further he walked into the woods, the harder it became to tell. He did not know how long he had been walking, or how far he had gone. He could no longer see Lamglen behind him. In the crushing dark of the forest, everything looked the same. His heart beat wildly in his chest, his eyes scanning for something that he could not see.

A twig snapped beneath his foot, and Arthur jumped, bringing his fists up protectively in front of him. He panted heavily, swinging around in the darkness, looking for anything to defend himself from. He could see nothing. Around him, the forest had not ceased its rustlings. Letting out a nervous laugh, Arthur dropped his hands back to his sides. "Arthur, you fool, there is nothing there," he murmured to himself. At the sound of his voice, the forest seemed to still. The slow padding of paws vanished. The rustling of the trees dimmed in volume. The darkness pressed in even closer to him. Arthur's whole body trembled in the sudden quiet. "Nothing there," he whispered again. "There's nothing there." The mantra rolled off his tongue again and again, so low he could barely hear it himself, and the forest grew silent to listen.

Focusing on the sound of his own voice and breath, Arthur peered down at the forest floor again. It was too dark to tell if the path remained beneath his feet. His breath hitched in his throat, and casting a long, wary look at the silent woods around him, he crouched slightly for a closer look.

Far up above him in the night sky, the clouds parted around the moon, and silvery light pierced through the forest. Dark leaves glowed, tree trunks were veined with grey bark, hundreds of eyes glittered in the black shadows. Arthur saw none of that, for his gaze was locked onto the ground before him. There was no path to be seen. His shaking hands reached out to brush aside the covering of leaves and underbrush, but all he found were mushrooms and worms. He had stepped off the path.

Time seemed to still. Arthur could feel the gaze of creatures he could not see, could hear nothing but his own heartbeat. He stumbled back to his feet, eyes wild, and ran through the trees, desperately searching for the dirt road. He could not have stepped so far off of it. It was impossible. But no matter how hard he looked, turning over every fallen branch, sweeping aside every bush, kicking at every pile of leaves, he could find nothing. He had stepped off the path, and he was destined to become another one of those horror stories told to children who ventured too close to the forest's edge.

As he stood there staring at the ground, chest tight and heart pounding, he heard a very slight rustle in the trees behind him. He barely noticed it at first, and then it came again. It was only the slightest sound, a crunch of leaves beneath a foot. It came again. He slowly raised his head, eyes wide with fear. "There's nothing there," he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. The rest of the forest remained silent, and the rustle came again. Cold breath rattled against the back of his neck.

Even as his mind screamed not to, his body turned. The moonlight, though fading quickly, still cast enough of a glow to illuminate the creature before him. It stood far taller than Arthur, perhaps twice his height. It was humanoid, and nothing at all like a human. The creature's arms remained bathed in shadow, yet they appeared long and spindly, holding up an equally slender body and shorter legs. But Arthur could not look away from its face. It was empty, blank of anything but a smooth expanse of white flesh stretched tightly over a skull.

Arthur's mouth fell open. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear a human voice screaming. It might have been his, but he could not tell. His body would not move, and all he could see was that pale face.

Tendrils of shadow writhed in the creature's arms, breaking through its skin and coiling through the air. They wound themselves around Arthur's unmoving arms and legs, lifting him up off the ground, letting him dangle as the pale head drew closer to his own face. Arthur knew he was screaming now, over and over again, as his throat burned and his breath stuttered. And as the moon slid once again behind the cover of clouds, and he was left alone in the pure darkness with a monster he could not see, he felt a warm tear roll down his cheek. The monster's breath rattled in his face. He shut his eyes.

Something flew past his ear, and suddenly Arthur was falling back to the ground. He landed heavily on his back, eyes flying open as he gasped for breath.

The monster was burning. An arrow, long-shafted and fletched in simple brown feathers, protruded from both ends of its skull, the tip still dripping with flames. The tendrils that had been holding Arthur aloft were sliding along the pale face, running over the arrow, seemingly not affected by the fire. Arthur scrambled back along the ground, not daring to remove his gaze from the creature. His back came into contact with something hard, and he glanced briefly over his shoulder, expecting to see a tree.

Instead, his eyes found a leg, and then another, and traveled upwards to see hips and chest and shoulders and face. It was a man, wreathed in the flickering light of the burning monster. He glanced down at Arthur for only a moment as he fitted another arrow to his string. "Stay down."

In that brief second, Arthur found himself staring at eyes as black as the night itself.

* * *

A/N- Here's the first chapter. Obviously I changed a lot here, and as such made the plot a little more clear. Arthur being an ex-priest makes far more sense in the long run than being a writer. It also gives him some motivation for what he does. However, I also kept a lot the same. Still have some Slenderman, because I couldn't just get rid of that.

Why are Alfred's eyes black? I'll explain soon, don't worry. Shoot all your questions and comments my way- I'm happy to answer them!

Anyway, I'm glad you guys all enjoyed the redone prologue! Your reviews and favorites and alerts really make my day. I hope you like this chapter just as much!


	3. Chapter 2: The Reluctant Warrior

For one long moment, Arthur sat unmoving, his gaze locked on the man at his back. The ever-changing glow of the flames cast strange shadows across his body and face, over the curved wooden bow in his hands and the quiver strung across his back. But the memory of those dark, dark eyes flashed through Arthur's mind again, and he pushed himself away from the new man's leg, away from the burning monster, to the edges of the fire's light.

He looked between the two of them, the black-eyed man with the longbow and the pale faceless monster. Neither moved, the only sound Arthur's own breathing and the crackle of the flames. His thoughts leapt back to the pendant in his satchel- it was protection, a shield against the two inhuman beings before him, but his arms refused to search for it. His heart pounded in the stillness.

They both moved at once. The dark man's arms swung upwards, drawing the bow taut in one smooth movement. The pale beast galloped forwards on its slender arms. The arrow flew, piercing the monster's body in a pulse of thick blood, just as shadowy tendrils burst forward to wind around the man's arms. They tumbled to the ground, dirt flying up around their struggling forms. The fire still burning across the monster's head and back ate at the man's sleeves. The two beings rolled across the forest floor, moving towards Arthur's numb body. He scrambled backwards, fingers slipping against the dirt and leaves, until one arm slid out from underneath him and he fell onto his back. Without thinking, he pushed himself upwards, onto his feet, and staggered as his muscles thrummed with fear.

Two faces, one dark, one white, turned to stare at him, stark in the light of the flames. The black-eyed man's gaze narrowed, mouth twisting as it opened to roar, "What are you doing? Stay down!"

But it was already too late. In that instant that the man was distracted, the pale creature wound its tendrils around his body and threw him aside. He shot through the air, crashing into a tree several feet away. The trunk shattered down the center. Heavy tree limbs fell to the ground, spindly branches tearing through the undergrowth, bark raining down around their broken forms. The man was enveloped by the shadows, hidden from any stray beams of moonlight or the dying flames.

The rustle of leaves drew Arthur's eyes and mind back to the other creature, but its pale body no longer lay where he expected. He twisted around, staring through the darkness, seeing nothing. Whatever fire had burned across the monster's back had been snuffed out. The rustling sound continued, the slow sweep of spindly limbs.

Arthur spun again, eyes wild, and there it was. That faceless head lowered itself to his height, neck stretching downwards until he was staring at the empty flesh where eyes should have been. The tendrils in the creature's arms twisted out, a slow, hypnotic swirl as they slipped across Arthur's body. His breath stuttered in his throat. He forced his feet back, pulling away, but his motions were sluggish and heavy, as though he was moving through deep water. The monster came ever closer. Its head seemed to grow in his vision, the white expanse shifting further and further outwards until it was all he could see, marred only by the arrow shaft still protruding from its forehead. Stale breath washed over his face, and though he could see no mouth engraved into the creature's skin, he was struck by the sudden knowledge that he was going to be eaten.

"No," he whispered. A prayer started to form on his lips, something he had learned in his service to the Church, but it died in the presence of the demon before him. Any other words escaped him as he felt his arms being bound to his sides. His lips kept pleading, "No, no, no."

There came a sound like two bones grinding against each other, and suddenly the monster's face was no longer blank, but a white canvas in the middle of which was growing a dark hole. The skin seemed to part around it as it widened, cracking and peeling away. The faint breaths of before were now deep, rattling through the creature's thin frame, out from that toothless hole. The noise overtook Arthur's senses, drawing him into the inky black.

He did not hear the roar that burst forth from behind the monster. He did not see the blur of leather and cloth that leapt forwards. He only began to feel the world around him once again as he fell, released from the monster's tendrils into the air. In his muddled mind, he could not even remember being lifted off the ground. The moon, hidden somewhat by leaves and wisps of cloud, shone down on him as he fell, illuminating the monster and the strange man as they grappled.

Arthur did not react in time to catch himself on his feet. His legs gave way beneath him, his body crumpling backwards until it struck the base of a tree trunk. Pain shot through his skull as the back of his head collided with rough bark. His gaze went black for a moment, before fading into a vague sort of focus. Laying there in the dirt and leaves, body crumpled, he stared up at the scene ahead of him, all shining faintly in the moonlight.

The dark-eyed man struggled against the shadow tendrils wound around his torso, one arm disappearing down into the monster's mouth. His lips were twisted in a sneer of pain and fury, his free hand digging into the pale skin of the monster's face. The monster itself shuffled backwards a step, then sideways, attempting to keep its balance against the apparent strength of its opponent. A long-bladed hunting knife protruded from the top of the creature's spine, directly below its skull. Thick blood pooled out around it, dripping down the monster's thin limbs, along the man's breeches, collecting in a dark puddle beneath them. Dirt swirled up around them.

What remained of Arthur's sight slowly began to slip away. His body felt heavy and lifeless, even as his conscious mind begged him to panic at being so close to a battle of two inhuman creatures. The moonlight was fading, the shadowy figures before him becoming immersed in the darkness around them. The roots beneath him softened and spread. Everything melded together into one thick cloak of black, and Arthur's eyes slid shut.

After that, he could only recall flashes of vision, brief memories of sight. There were eyes, he knew- not black, but blue, blue as the midday sky. The sky itself was there as well, but it did not hold the same vibrancy as those eyes. They were situated in a face, one that Arthur could not seem to focus on, yet he had heard words being spoken by lips, words that he could not understand. There was feeling as well, the faint touch of fingers and hands. All of it was vague, soft, and Arthur wondered fleetingly if it was only a dream.

Arthur shifted sideways, his body coming into contact with something hard and unyielding. His eyes slid open to see a length of coarse root. So his memories had not been dreams after all. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought back. There had been the forest, that monster. That man.

The faintest crunch of leaves beneath a booted foot alerted him to the presence of another, and he rolled into a defensive crouch. His eyes found the form of a man- the man from before. He stood several feet away, silent and still, his hands clenched around the wood of his longbow. Even from that distance, Arthur could see that the man was far taller than himself, perhaps a full head or more. Shadow cast by his messy hair and strong brow shielded his eyes from Arthur's gaze. They stood there for a long moment, quiet save for birdcalls and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

"I have heard the stories," Arthur said finally, not moving from his crouch. His voice remained remarkably firm for how rapidly his heart was beating. "The demon man from the west, silent as the grave as he walks from one end of the kingdom to the other. He always remains hidden in the wild, never appearing too close to civilization, but the mere sight of him is enough to send even the bravest of warriors running. Tall as a sapling, strong as a bear, untamable as the wind." He paused. "It looks as though most of the tales are true."

The man's strong jaw, dotted with stubble, clenched, and he moved away, circling around Arthur without turning his back. His boots made only the smallest hint of a sound as they struck the ground. Arthur watched him, still crouched low, the posture of a wary cat in the presence of a much larger predator. The man did not stop until he had reached a small fire that Arthur hadn't noticed before. He knelt down in front of it, setting his bow down after another cautious glance at Arthur, and reached down to his belt as though searching for something.

"Well?" Arthur said after a minute. His heartbeat was beginning to slow as the demon man showed no sign of aggression, but he found himself feeling annoyed at the lack of response. "Aren't you going to kill and eat me?"

The man let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Are you a rabbit?" His voice was deep and hoarse, as though it had not been used in a while.

Arthur scowled. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you a rabbit?" the man asked again. The gloved hand that had been feeling around his belt reemerged into Arthur's view, this time holding a rough loop of rope onto which were strung three rabbits. He shook them, staring at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm eating rabbit today. Unless you are one, I doubt you taste as good."

The attempt at a joke stupefied Arthur. "Are you trying to be funny?" he demanded. "I wasn't aware demons had a sense of humor!"

All traces of humor vanished from the man's face, and he fell silent once again. As Arthur watched, he drew a long hunting knife from its sheath on his belt, setting to the task of skinning the rabbits he'd caught. Arthur slowly uncurled from his crouch. "That's the knife with which you killed that beast last night."

The man paused in his work, glancing up at Arthur before turning back to the blade. "Yes."

Arthur frowned and crossed his arms. For a demon, this man was rather disappointing. Arthur knew the stories by heart, the tales of monsters and devils and beasts that lurked in the wilderness. They were the enemies of humanity, creatures who took pleasure in killing men and women, who destroyed homes and devoured innocents. They did not build fires, catch rabbits, or make jokes, and they certainly did not save humans from other demons. But even though he had turned his back on the Church, he remembered their warnings- monsters could be cunning. The demon man before him was merely waiting for him to relax, and then he would attack, Arthur was sure of it.

His thoughts turned once again to the pendant settled in the bottom of his satchel, and he looked around at the area to see if it was still within his reach, or if the demon man had done away with it. He found the satchel almost immediately, resting against the side of the tree he had been laying beneath when he woke. He edged towards it, keeping a wary eye on the man by the fire. "That creature last night," he said, his voice tight but casual. "What was it?"

The man did not halt in his task this time, though his gaze lifted to follow Arthur's backwards steps towards the tree. He made no move to snatch up his longbow. "I don't know," he replied. "I have been hunting it for days, but it was unlike any beast I've ever seen before."

"Hunting it?" Arthur bent down to lift the satchel onto his shoulder, his hand sliding inside to feel for the pendant. "I've never heard of demons preying on one another."

"It was attacking children," the man said. The firm strokes of his knife slowed somewhat. "Every night, I would hear them scream- children, women, any weak, defenseless creature it came upon. Yet it always managed to escape before I could find and kill it." His gaze slid over to Arthur. "You were lucky last night. I was close enough to stop it from devouring you."

Arthur's brow furrowed, even as his fingers closed around the golden sun. "Do you truly expect me to believe that you killed that monster out of the good of your heart? You're a demon- you have no heart, not the way a human does. You did save me last night, but for what? To eat me yourself?" He pulled the pendant out into the open, thrusting it towards the demon man, letting the sunlight glint off its golden surface. "Think again, devil!"

The man's hands slowed to a stop. His eyes moved back and forth between the pendant and Arthur's face. "What are you going to do with that?"

His voice held no fear, only bemusement, and Arthur felt his courage falter. Still, he stepped forward, again and again until he was merely two feet from the demon. "Are you not afraid? This is the symbol of the Sky God! The symbol of the one who strikes down even the mightiest of your kind!" He shook it in the man's face, his voice rising as his heart beat a frantic rhythm in his chest. "The very touch of this pendant to your flesh will burn you!"

Silence reigned between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the faint rattle of the pendant's chain as Arthur willed his fingers not to shake. The demon man did not move, did not recoil or flee in terror, merely stared at the gleaming golden sun held before his eyes. The fire beside them crackled, and Arthur startled even himself with his sudden movement, thrusting his arm forward until the pendant struck the demon man's forehead. The man did start back this time, eyes wide, but there was no sizzle of flesh at the contact, no scream of pain as he was destroyed by the power of the Sky God. There was only the faint clunk of copper meeting skin.

They stared at each other over the rays of the pendant, waiting for something, some sort of godly power, to appear, and in that moment it struck Arthur that the man's eyes were blue. It was not a natural, human blue- it was the blue of the skies, tinted by stormy gray clouds. They drew him in, inviting him to become lost in their vibrant expanse, but Arthur forced his gaze away with a shudder. It was a trick, another trap.

Nothing happened. Birds continued to sing from the trees, the fire danced its way across the sticks on which it burned, the pendant's gold paint glimmered in the sunlight. The demon man remained frozen in his position, leaning back and away from Arthur, brilliant eyes wide and wary.

The pendant slipped from Arthur's hands, landing upon the ground in a gentle cloud of dirt. He stared down at it. So he had nothing. His only means of protection, the one connection he still maintained to the life he'd left behind, was powerless. He stood alone in the woods, accompanied only by a demon, and even the Sky God had turned away from him. "You might as well kill me now," he told the demon man, closing his eyes in acceptance of his fate. "I have no way to defend myself."

He heard what almost sounded like a snort of irritation, and he glanced up, confused, to see that the demon man had moved himself silently to the other side of the fire, keeping the tiny flame as a barrier between them. "I told you," the man said, his voice even more cautious than before, but tinged with annoyance. "I'm not going to kill you or eat you."

Arthur stared, fear and weariness and anger and every other emotion he had kept so carefully contained bursting through the surface as he yelled, "What kind of demon are you? Why won't you- You're supposed to want to eat me! You're supposed to be wicked, to hate humans! Why-?" The words choked off in his throat as he found himself once again the subject of that blue gaze.

"Do you want me to eat you?" the demon man asked, and there was a curiosity in his words that reminded Arthur of a young boy.

"No." It came out as a whisper, defeated and weak. Arthur allowed himself to fall to his knees, his eyes seeking and finding the fallen pendant before him. Reflections of flame danced across its surface. The demon man said nothing more, and Arthur heard the sound of the hunting knife sliding through rabbit flesh once again, but he paid it no heed. He lifted the pendant into his hands once more, cradling it within the cup of his palms.

It was useless, simply a trinket wasting space in his satchel. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the smoothness of the gold paint against his fingers, and paused when he saw a faint vein of copper, barely noticeable, cutting through its sheen. It was a scratch, likely from having been dropped to the ground. He ran his thumb across it. There was a roughness to that slight mar that felt out of place upon such a perfect surface.

Arthur lifted his eyes to cast another look at the demon man, still cutting at the rabbits, before letting them slip closed as he thought. He was alone in a world that he had never experienced. Everything that he had been taught… None of it seemed to matter out here, beyond the walls of the Church. There were so many questions left unanswered, questions he needed to understand. He could not go back to Lamglen to find the answers, no, but he could keep moving forward. There were still other places he could journey to in order to find out what he now needed to know. His hands tightened around the pendant, ignoring the way its rays dug into his flesh. It was useless in the way of protection, now that he had shunned the graces of its god, but perhaps it could help him find the answers to the questions it had helped bring about.

"Demon," Arthur said slowly, meeting the man's gaze across the fire, "which way is it to Almsloch?" His mind was already beginning to form plans.

"Almsloch?" The demon man frowned. "It is days away from here. The road is dangerous, particularly for the unarmed. It's a fool's journey to walk it alone."

Arthur scoffed, feeling more like himself now that he had a goal in mind, and was not quite as worried about being eaten. "Your concern is touching, demon, but I was not asking for your opinion. Simply point me towards the road and go back to your ways."

The man's frown deepened. "You'll be killed."

"Perhaps the idea of being helpful is lost on your kind," Arthur sneered, lifting himself to his feet. "If you won't guide me in the right direction, I will find my own way."

The demon man was silent for a moment. "Almsloch is north of here, five days walk through the forest, seven if you follow the road. The forest route will take you into the heart of the wood." He paused, running one gloved finger down the side of his knife. "The creature from last night was a rabbit compared to what can be found in that dark place."

Arthur shivered at the recollection of that pale face. "Then I will take the road."

"It's dangerous as well. You must have heard the stories of people disappearing off the path."

"Then what do you suggest I do, demon?"

The man stared at him, eyes boring into Arthur's face. "Go back to Lamglen. The pale monster is gone. You'll be safer there."

"That is not an option." Arthur crossed his arms. "I am never going back there. Show me the way to the road and I will leave you be."

"You'll die!"

"If you won't send me off in the right direction, yes, I certainly will. Now the choice is yours. Show me to the road and give me the chance to survive, or allow me to wander through the forest, alone, and be eaten by one of your fellows."

The demon man's eyes clouded, swirling from blue to grey, and his voice was fierce with anger as he demanded, "Sit down."

Arthur scowled. "What? You have no right to command me to do anything-"

"You said you want to survive," the demon interrupted. "I am going to make sure you do. Sit down." When Arthur refused to move, the man bared his teeth- all sharp, pointed- in a frustrated snarl. "I am going to cook these rabbits, and you are going to eat some, unless you would rather die of hunger, and then I am going to lead you to Almsloch as safely as I can."

Arthur hesitated, the fear that had been ebbing away returning to pulse in his heart. "You're a demon," he said slowly. "How do I know this isn't a trap?"

The clouds within the man's eyes slid away, revealing a tired pale blue. "You don't." His hands returned to the deft work of skinning the final rabbit. "I am a demon, a monster. I know. But I saved you once, and I have no intention of letting you die when I can stop it. Now, sit down." There was no more command in the words, simply resignation.

Finally, Arthur obeyed, taking his seat on the far side of the fire and watching as the skin was peeled off of the last rabbit. It was not the most optimal turn of events, to have to travel with some inhuman stranger, but he could not deny the truth in the other's words. The demon had saved him once, and he would at least provide the protection that Arthur lacked. "Very well," he said. "You may guide me to Almsloch. But I don't trust you."

"Good," said the demon man. "I don't trust you either."

Silence fell between them again, as the rabbits were speared on a stick and roasted above the open flame. The demon man ate like a beast, teeth tearing into the rabbit flesh, uncaring of the mess on his face or fingers. Arthur was forced to avert his eyes so as not to lose his appetite.

It was only after they were both finished, the bones tossed aside and the fire buried, that Arthur spoke again. "Do you have a name?" he asked, careful to keep a safe distance between him and the demon.

The man stared at him. "A name?"

"Yes." The question seemed suddenly foolish, and he cursed himself for speaking it aloud. "I suppose demons don't have proper names like humans do. I simply thought it would be nice to have something to call you, other than demon."

"No, I have a name." The demon man hesitated a moment, as if trying to remember, as if he had forgotten. "My name… It's Alfred. Alfred Jones."

Arthur frowned. "A human name?"

The man- Alfred's lips twisted downwards in a pained grimace. "Yes."

"How odd." Arthur shifted his satchel, glancing away into the woods before opening his lips to speak again. "Well, my name is Arthur Kirkland." Alfred nodded, but there was nothing more to say between them.

The golden sun pendant and its chain lay heavily inside Arthur's satchel. The one scratch marring its surface remained buried amongst his clothes, hidden away from sight.

* * *

A/N- And there you have chapter three of the new Prometheus Rising. I hope you enjoyed it, and that it wasn't too confusing. It was hard to write.

Thank you so much for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts. I'm really glad people seem to like this so far. Obviously I'm straying away from the first story now. I'm trying to make it a little more realistic- Arthur and Alfred don't trust each other, or even particularly like each other yet. And Alfred is far more uncivilized and unused to humans after living alone in the wild for a few years. Also, I wanted him to be more obviously inhuman.

Well, Q & A time!

Sir Gawain of Camelot- I can't answer your question yet, sorry! That's an upcoming plot point. Stick around and see!

Love in Zelophobia- No, I haven't seen Marble Hornets, though I do know what it is. XD I'm actually awful when it comes to horror- can't deal with it at all.

ButterflyFlutterCry- Sorry, I don't have a set time schedule for this- I write it when I have the time and motivation. I'll try not to make you wait ridiculous amounts of time, though.

Ellarose C- Wrong. XD But nice guess. And yes, I do believe you have mentioned that before.

Zapheil- I hope I answered your question in this chapter? I'm trying to avoid being the omniscient narrator, and just focus on Arthur- what he knows, I know, and as such you know. What he doesn't know, I don't say.

Don't forget, I love questions, reviews, criticisms, whatever. Knowing that people read this and enjoy it really makes me happy. Thanks so much you guys!


	4. Chapter 3: Serenata Immortale

The sun climbed steadily across the sky, its rays casting speckled patterns through the thick boughs of the trees. The forest, though still sheltering swaths of shadow in its most impenetrable nooks, seemed almost to glow in the light. As Arthur lifted his leg to step over a moss-covered log, he found his gaze drawn to the shine of the leaves above him. Their gentle motions promised nothing but peace and serenity. It was nearly impossible to believe that this was the same dark forest that had ensnared him the night before.

"Arthur," called the gruff voice of his travelling companion. Arthur drew his eyes away from the beauty of his surroundings to focus on the man standing several feet ahead of him. Alfred's eyes were hidden by the shadow of the rough fringe that fell across his brow, but Arthur could see the tense line of his unshaven jaw, the clench of his fists. "Do not fall behind. We are coming nearer to the heart of the wood." The words were gritted through sharp teeth, and cut off abruptly at the sound of a slight rustle of the leaves beside him. A tiny snout poked through, followed by the eyes and ears of a gray squirrel.

Arthur scoffed. "Are you afraid?" He waved a hand at the little creature. "Are squirrels some sort of monster to be feared? Will it eat my fingers if I come too close?"

Alfred stared at him for a moment, lips drawn into a thin line, before glancing down at the squirrel. It chattered and vanished back into the underbrush. The demon's mouth twitched, and Arthur wondered in that instant whether he was going to smile. But those thin lips settled into neutrality again. Alfred shook his head. "We need to keep moving."

"Very well." Arthur shifted his satchel, frowning. "I suppose you are more knowledgeable about this forest, much as it pains me to admit it." He strode forward until there were only a few feet between himself and Alfred, and craned his neck back to look up at the man's face. "But what are you afraid of? Surely nothing in these woods could harm you."

"I'm not invincible," Alfred replied. "And it will certainly be more difficult trying to defend not only myself, but also a human." He turned and moved away, feet silent as they passed across the forest floor.

Arthur scowled at the man's back, but followed. He was displeased to hear his own footsteps crunching far louder. "My sincerest apologies for being a weak, defenseless human. Perhaps if you didn't have such a noble heart, demon, you would have left me to die on my own."

"I could still abandon you here in the forest," Alfred snapped back, glancing over his shoulder with cloudy gray eyes. "No one would ever know."

"Ha!" The harsh snort of laughter resounded through the woods. "Yes, you could, but would that not have been a great waste of your time? You said yourself that you already saved me once, and unless this is some elaborate ploy to lure me to your lair, you've obviously got some strange sort of desire to see me through this place alive."

Alfred bared his teeth, letting out an irritated puff of breath. "Leading you to my lair? You said you've heard the stories- surely you must have learned that I'm a wanderer. What use would I have for a lair?"

"How should I know the workings of a demon's mind? Perhaps you keep some special spices for roasting humans in there or something!"

"Special spices?" Alfred's voice sounded different as he spoke, and Arthur had the bizarre sense that the demon man was smiling, though he could not see his face. "I may not-"

Before Arthur could demand an explanation for the abrupt silence, he found himself being forced into a crouch by a large, gloved hand. Alfred stood protectively in front of him, body tense and alert, gaze flicking across the trunks ahead of them. The forest, so alive with sound and motion before, now seemed still and quiet. A shiver rolled down Arthur's spine. "What is it?"

"Something is out there." Alfred did not look down at him, merely stepped back a pace until his leg was nearly pressing against Arthur's hunched shoulder. His head titled up, eyes narrowing, and his nostrils flared rapidly as he sniffed at the air. "Something whose scent I don't recognize."

Arthur nodded, not caring whether or not Alfred could see the gesture. His heart pulsed in his chest. "Do you think it's a monster?" The question slipped from between his lips without his consent, and he frowned at its ridiculousness. Of course Alfred thought it was some kind of monster.

"I can't be certain," Alfred said, voice barely a whisper. "But I do know that we cannot stay here." He grabbed Arthur's arm and lifted the man back to his feet. His other hand maintained its firm grip on the wood of his longbow. "We need to move quickly and silently. Will you be able to stay close?"

Though he wanted to say yes, that of course he could keep pace, Arthur found himself shaking his head. "I'm not sure." The trees before them rustled suddenly, as if something large were passing through them.

Alfred looked down at him, and Arthur's breath stuttered as he met a gaze nearly as black as the night they had first encountered one another. "You will have to do your best. I won't be able to fight if I must carry you. When I give the signal, run as though your life depends on it, do you understand?" His eyes slid back up to the trees as Arthur nodded. "Do not hesitate, and do not look back."

Whatever creature hid in the leaves seemed to pause, the rustling of its movements fading. It was watching them, Arthur knew, and he hoped that it was not intelligent enough to understand their words. His pulse drummed a rhythm of fear through his body, every muscle waiting for Alfred's signal to move. The sound of his breathing seemed to echo around them. Every second felt as though it were being drawn out in the stillness. Then Alfred's hand was pressing against the center of his chest, thrusting him backwards with inhuman force and hissing between sharp teeth, "Run!"

Arthur staggered back at the power behind the shove, but he regained his footing and spun on his heel, darting into the trees. Every trunk appeared the same to him as he ran past. His instincts demanded he look back, to perhaps catch a glimpse of whatever creature they were fleeing, or at least to confirm that Alfred was close behind him, yet he forced his gaze to remain focused forward. He stumbled over a tree root that had escaped his attention, and a warm, gloved hand caught his arm and propelled him forward again. "Faster," Alfred growled.

"I can't," Arthur attempted to snap back, but his breath was already catching in his throat at the exertion, and the only words that managed to gasp free were nearly incoherent. He had never run like this before, had never needed to during his days in the Order. Alfred's grip tightened around his arm, fingers clenched hard enough to cause pain.

The forest erupted behind them. Branches rattled and snapped, trees groaning under the strain of allowing something large to pass between them, leaves and dirt took to the air in a flurry of noise. Arthur thought he might have heard the sound of wings, hundreds of feathers extending to take flight. It might only have been the sound of escape by the now silent birds. He did not dare look back to see.

"Faster!" Alfred barked. Arthur choked on his response, barely able to breathe. He was being pulled along, nearly dragged, his feet threatening to catch on any protrusion from the ground. His hand was beginning to numb at the force of Alfred's grasp. A noise, quiet and strangled, escaped his throat, and his legs burned. He knew that could not keep running. He would have to slow down.

Black eyes met his, and without warning he found the smooth wood of a longbow pressed into his fingers, and his feet lifted off the forest floor. Arthur cried out in surprise and nearly dropped the longbow. But Alfred's arms were strong and warm where they supported his knees and shoulders, and the ground seemed to fly beneath his boot clad feet, so Arthur did not complain. He clutched the bow tight to his chest. It was their only means of protection against whatever monster pursued them, save for the hunting knife strapped somewhere upon Alfred's body, and now that Alfred's arms were holding him, it was useless. His breathing was beginning to slow into normalcy, though his thoughts continued to race within his head. He lifted himself as much as he could to peer over Alfred's broad shoulder.

The beast that chased them was huge indeed. He could not make out its exact form in the flickering light and shadow beneath the tree boughs, but its mass spread wide between the trunks. It did not move around each tree as Alfred did, instead forcing itself through them, sending branches and bark tumbling into the undergrowth. The ever-shifting sunlight glinted off of long white feathers. With every passing moment, the monster seemed to draw nearer. Arthur wound one hand into the leather of Alfred's coat in order to keep himself upright. "It's almost upon us!" he yelled into the man's ear.

Alfred grunted in reply, and for the first time Arthur noticed the beads of sweat dripping down his brow. The man's breath was strained, harsh between his clenched teeth. "Can you swim?" he gritted suddenly.

"What?" The question had caught Arthur off guard. "Swim?" The beast behind them crashed through another tree.

"Can you swim?" Alfred snapped again, his voice catching on the last word as he ducked down beneath a low hanging branch.

It might have been the blind fear on which his body was thrumming, or the confusion of the words and their pursuit, but Arthur found that he could not remember. "I don't know. I don't know!" His voice rose in panic, and he released his hold on Alfred's jacket and fell heavily back against the man's arm. His face pressed into the thick leather. It smelled of sweat and dirt and blood, and he twisted away to look forward once again.

Above him, he heard Alfred growl in what sounded like pain, but his gaze was fixed on the trees before them. The forest was coming to an end, and then all he could see was the wide, open expanse of sky. The ground seemed to simply fall away. Arthur's lips opened in a gasp, and he called out words that may have been a prayer, or a curse, or a name. He could not even understand them. Alfred darted past the last line of trees, his feet hitting the ground once more, and jumped.

Arthur screamed. The air rushed past him as they fell, and his fingers wound tight in Alfred's coat even as he held fast to the longbow. The cliff side rushed upwards alongside them. Alfred's hands tightened their grip around Arthur's body.

They hit the river with a resounding crash that was deafened immediately by the water rushing into Arthur's ears, and whatever grip they held on one another was wrenched apart by the rapid current. Everything was dark with foam and the silhouettes of rocks. Arthur gagged on the water but did not inhale, and pushed himself towards what he hoped was the surface. His hand remained clenched around Alfred's longbow as his legs struggled to kick against the churning flow that tried to spin him around. His chest burned with lack of breath, but he forced himself onwards.

His head broke the surface for barely an instant before the current dragged him under again. He pushed himself back up again, gasping for breath as the cool spring air hit his face, and grabbed onto the nearest rock to pull himself out of the water's reach. He lay sprawled across it, ignoring the uneven surface that pressed uncomfortably into his body. The world smelled fresh and sweet, and after a moment he rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to stare at the sky.

A shadow hovered in front of the sun. Arthur scrambled into a seated position, holding the longbow close. The creature did not seem to be moving, content with merely watching from high above as those massive feathered wings slowly beat the air, and then it turned and flew back over the cliff, out of Arthur's sight. Still, he did not move from his defensive hunch, eyes fixed on the place where it had vanished.

"Arthur?" The sound of his named being called, however hesitantly, drew him out of his shock. He uncurled his body, lifting himself to his feet as Alfred came into sight around the river bend. He was dripping wet, hair matted to his head in some places and sticking out in others, as though he had run a hand through it. Arthur furrowed his brows. In that moment, Alfred looked so young, and so human.

They stood there, staring at each other, Alfred on the riverbank and Arthur perched upon a rock in the middle of the rapids. The silence between them was broken by Alfred, looking away at the rushing water. "So you do know how to swim."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose I do." His hand clenched around the wood of the longbow, before he realized just what he was holding. "Oh, you must want this returned." He extended the bow out over the river, surprised to feel just how heavy it was when his mind was not clouded by fear. He nearly had to grip it with his other hand to keep it from falling into the waters below.

"I… Yes." The man frowned. "But would you not like to move onto dry land first?"

"Oh." Arthur felt the warmth of a blush spread across his chilled face as he lowered his arms again. "That would be sensible." His gaze found the river as well. "I suppose I'll have to attempt to swim across, then."

Alfred's frown deepened. "Swim? The current will drag you under." Carefully, slowly, as though he was not certain that his motion was safe, he held out his arms. "If you jump, I can catch you."

The water splashed up against Arthur's feet as he thought. Alfred's arms were strong, and he had carried Arthur safely before. Yet he had also thrown himself off a cliff with seemingly no care towards his own wellbeing. "You will not drop me?"

"So long as you jump far enough." Alfred leaned forward, reaching out further. The cool blue of the river below him seemed to dull in contrast with his eyes.

Arthur hesitated a moment longer. He had not known this man more than a day, but Alfred had already saved his life twice. "Very well," he said stiffly, stepping back as far as he could on the rock without plunging into the water. The stone was smooth and slippery with foam. His hands wound tight around the bow he still clutched. He pushed forward, thrusting himself out over the rapids, and a brief flare of fear lit in his stomach as he felt his feet leave the ground. But then Alfred's arms closed in around him, one hand seizing Arthur's upper arm and the other grasping a handful of his tunic, and his body was pulled onto the grassy riverbank.

They drew apart from each other immediately, Alfred releasing his grip so that Arthur could move away. Arthur held out the longbow, and Alfred gently took it, careful not to touch Arthur's hands. The silence lengthened.

"We should change out of these wet clothes," Arthur murmured finally, his gaze focused upon the grass at his feet. "It would be easy to catch cold out here." He did not look up to see if Alfred had agreed, and bent to unlace his boots and slide them off onto the ground. The air, though warmed somewhat by the sun's rays, still held the chill of early spring. He pulled off his satchel, dropping it carelessly into the grass. The spare clothing inside would be as wet as the rest of him. His tunic and shirt followed, and it was only as he began to untie the lacings of his breeches that he looked up at Alfred again.

The man's long coat lay spread upon the ground, a tunic and tattered shirt resting in a pile on top. Alfred stood with his back to Arthur, head bent as he appeared to fumble with the laces of his own breeches. His back was strong, taut and firm with the muscles of constant motion, but what drew Arthur's eyes was not the tanned skin or broad shoulders. His eyes instead traced along the pattern of scars covering Alfred's back. They were widely varied, some long and deep, gouging from a shoulder blade down beneath the waist of his breeches, some old, faint, barely visible amongst the others. Many extended down over the muscles of his arms, or appeared to delve below onto his hips and legs. After several long seconds, Alfred stiffened and turned to peer over his shoulder. Arthur scowled, averting his eyes, and continued to remove his breeches. They disrobed in complete silence, broken only by the burble of the river and the birdsong in the few trees that dotted the landscape.

Arthur lay his clothing out upon the grass in the sunlight. He had even emptied his wet satchel, spreading out his nightshirt and spare breeches. If luck was on his side, they would be dry before nightfall, and he would not have to worry about sleeping defenseless in the nude. He ignored the golden sun pendant, leaving it to settle in the bottom of the satchel. It felt strange, to be standing in the wild wearing naught but his own skin, yet there was something calming about the feeling. He crossed his arms across his chest and turned away from the river, staring out across the land. Rolling meadows spilled out before him. Tall grass shone in the daylight, overcast only in the areas where the tangled trees of the forest had managed to bloom. Far off on the horizon stood the cloudy, jagged peaks of the Anhael Mountains.

"Have you ever seen what lies beyond the mountains?" Arthur asked. He had not meant to, but once the words had slipped past his lips he found that he did not regret them. Behind him, he heard Alfred stir from whatever he had been doing.

"Past the Anhael? No. I've only climbed their roots, never high enough to see through the mist." Alfred's voice was soft, perhaps even wistful. "I've heard the stories, though."

"So have I." Arthur drew in a deep breath. "Well, I suppose we should make camp for the night. We can't travel without any clothes." He turned to face Alfred, and noted in a quick glance that the scars upon his back continued along his front as well, crossing over his chest and stomach. He did not let his eyes linger this time.

Alfred let out a sound of agreement and knelt to gather his longbow and quiver. "I'll hunt something to eat. Start a fire while I'm gone." He hesitated as he turned, before adding quietly, "My knife is with my tunic." As silent as ever, he moved away across the fields.

Arthur watched his departure for a time, and then set off to gather whatever he could find to make a fire. The thought that Alfred had left him with his knife, with a weapon that could potentially be turned against him, refused to leave his mind, but he did not go and see if it was true. He focused on his task, quickly gathering enough twigs and bark to make a small fire. Only after he had managed to spark a flame did he venture over to Alfred's clothing. It laid out several feet away from Arthur's own, but much in the same fashion, and Arthur entertained the strange idea that Alfred might have actually copied him. It was a ridiculous thought. He brushed it aside.

The demon man's tunic was roughly made, as though by untrained hands, and patched in various areas. Arthur gently lifted its hem. There lay the knife, sheath-less, long and glinting in the fading daylight. Alfred had not been lying. Arthur took it into his hands, careful of the blade, and ran his thumb across the handle. The weapon seemed to have been forged by an untrained smith as well, though it was obviously crafted with care.

The soft sound of a carcass being dropped to the ground startled him out of his reverie, and he twisted around, knife pointed out at whatever had surprised him. Alfred stood there, blue eyes cautious. Beside him lay the body of a large fox. "Are you going to put that down?" the man asked.

"Yes," Arthur replied after a moment, and lowered his arms. He did not let go of the knife. "Is that all you could find?"

Alfred nodded, before turning to look at the fire Arthur had built. "That's a very small flame," he said, almost reproachfully.

Arthur's lips dipped into a frown. "It was all I could find." The minute the words left his mouth, he understood, and he could not help as his lips quirked up slightly. "Skin the bloody thing and get on with it," he muttered to hide the smile.

"But you have the knife."

All humor fled at once. Arthur looked down at his hands, still clutching the rough handle. "Yes, I suppose I am." He could feel Alfred's gaze upon him, watching, waiting to see what he would do. He paused, then slowly turned the knife around until the blade rested between his fingers, and held out the handle. "You'll need this."

"I will." As though approaching a frightened animal, Alfred moved forward until his fingers could grasp the handle offered him. His hands were large and calloused, Arthur saw, now that his gloves were too damp to wear. His nails extended out into sharp points. The skin across every knuckle, along each finger, down his palm, and along the back of his hand was nearly white with scars. Arthur held back the questions that threatened to come bursting forth.

Quiet settled around them again as the fox roasted above the flames. Evening was descending, and it brought along with it the chill of night. Arthur drew his bare legs to his chest. He glanced at his clothing, still spread out upon the grass, and hoped that at least one piece would be dry enough to wear. To sleep naked in this cold would most certainly invite illness. His gaze slid across the fire to Alfred, and met a wide blue stare. "You're shivering," the demon man said.

Arthur frowned and wound his arms around his legs, pulling them even closer. He had not realized that he was shivering, but now that it had been said, he could feel his body trembling. "I am not used to sleeping outdoors."

Alfred watched him a moment longer, before murmuring, "Your clothing should be dry now." He reached into the midst of the small fire to press a clawed nail against the side of the fox, barely wincing at the flames. "Supper will be ready soon, if you want to clothe yourself."

Their gazes held, before Arthur nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He strode over to where his clothing lay, away from the fire and the other man, and knelt down to press his hand against the cloth. The material of his tunic and shirt were still somewhat damp, but the spare breeches seemed dry. He slid them on. He could hear the river flowing over the rocks several feet in front of him, could make out the reflection of the sunset in the rushing waters, and he remembered the sensation of being submerged. As he stepped forward to look more closely, his foot brushed up against the wet cloth of his satchel. He bent down to it and reached inside to draw out the golden sun. The smooth paint reflected the sunset's colors beautifully. Yet as he turned it in his hands, his fingers once again found the sole mar in its perfect surface. He frowned.

"Arthur," a rough voice called from behind him. It was becoming familiar. "The fox is done."

"Alright," Arthur said. He shoved the pendant deep into the damp confines of his satchel, and turned back to the fire, where Alfred held out a strip of roasted meat in his scarred hand. Arthur sat down once more, warming his feet by the flames, and accepted the meager supper.

The sun set and the stars appeared in the wide open sky, and they ate in silence.

* * *

A/N- I am so sorry it took so long for me to update. I have a million excuses and I won't throw any of them at you. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it wasn't the most amazing thing.

I'm trying to avoid having them just magically overcome their differences, so Alfred and Arthur are pretty awkward around one another right now. That will change as the story moves along, of course! This is also the reason why everything is not being explained all at once, because they have no reason to tell each other anything personal at the moment.

Q & A time!

Ellarose C- Closer! XD Much much closer. In fact, you're almost right. And thanks so much!

Mudkiprox- No, Al is definitely not human. Which, in the minds of these people, makes him a demon and a monster.

Thanks again for all the support and love, guys! Don't forget, I love questions and comments and whatever, so review or shoot me off a message or something! (Or come bug me on Tumblr- the link's on my profile!) I hope you enjoyed this new chapter, and I'll try to get the next one out faster!


	5. Chapter 4: Lacrimosa Dominae

"You said before that Almsloch was five days journey through the forest," Arthur said as he kicked loose dirt over the remains of their fire. The sun was rising in the distance, only a few hours past the breaking of dawn over the Anhael peaks. "What about now? Have we lost time?"

Alfred shook his head, rising to his feet from where he had knelt to gather his bow. "I was not expecting to come this way, but it has taken nearly a day off of the walk. If we had continued along the path I was planning, we would have had to go further along those cliffs and then climb down onto this plain. The way down would have been treacherous." His lips twitched slightly, as though fighting against a smile. "That beast managed to save us a lot of time."

"I'll make sure to thank it the next time I see it," muttered Arthur. "But for now, all I truly care about is making my way to Almsloch as quickly as possible. So, if you might lead me?" He gestured vaguely northwards.

"Of course." Alfred turned away, staring out over the fields towards the distant southern edge of the forest. His hair glinted in the sunlight. He did not wait to see if Arthur was ready to follow before striding away through the tall grass, the tattered hem of his coat brushing against the stalks with each quiet footfall. Arthur hastily chased after him. He felt clumsy and awkward as his boots struck the ground, grass breaking beneath his feet, though they had seemed almost untouched by Alfred's passing. He half expected Alfred to comment on his human clumsiness, but the demon man remained silent. Arthur kept his voice to himself as well.

The sun bore down on the two of them as it traveled higher in its arc across the sky. The stillness was broken only by the crackle of grass beneath Arthur's feet and the faint sound of birdcalls from the woods. Alfred's pace remained quick and unrelenting, and Arthur did not dare speak and disturb their peaceful silence to ask to slow down. Still, he found himself becoming tired. His body was not used to such constant motion after so many quiet years living within the Church. The heat of the sun, unbroken by any kind of breeze or gust of wind, threatened to choke him. Yet he refused to fall behind.

It was not until midday, when the sun rested at its highest position in the cloudless sky, that they finally passed beneath the first straggling trees at the southern border of the forest. Alfred's strides slowed, then drew to a complete halt, and he turned to regard Arthur. His expression remained mostly neutral. Something flickered at the edges of his eyes, though, a strange muddled color threatening to overwhelm the blue. "You should have told me if I was moving too fast for you to follow."

"No, it was no trouble keeping up." Arthur lifted one hand to brush at his bangs. They were matted with sweat, and he winced as he touched the wet strands. "It is simply hot out today."

Alfred's expression shifted, his lips turning slightly upwards at the corners. "Hot? This is nothing compared to how the summer feels in these parts. Did the Church keep you all locked away inside its walls during the warmer months?"

Arthur frowned at him. "Pardon?"

"In the Church," Alfred repeated. His voice was strained now. "Did they keep you locked inside, while the common people labored out in the heat?"

"How do you know I was a member of the Church? I never told you." Arthur stared up into cloudy blue eyes, suddenly wary.

"I am not stupid. I've seen priests before, I recognized the symbol of your pendant. I know what it means. I know what you stand for, and what you have done."

"Oh, you do?" Arthur snapped. "Tell me then, Alfred, what have I done?"

A long moment passed, in which they did nothing but watch one another. "It is nothing," Alfred said finally. "I should not have said it." He turned away, as if to keep moving into the forest, but Arthur reached out to grab the tattered sleeve of his jacket. The demon did not try to pull away, merely released a heavy sigh.

Though he knew that Alfred was not looking, Arthur's glare did not subside. "No, you do not get to run away now. You may be a demon, but you are not a dog, and I will not allow you to flee with your tail between your legs. Now tell me what you meant."

"You just said it yourself, I am no dog. Don't think that you can order me around and expect me to obey your every command." Alfred pulled against Arthur's grip on his jacket, oddly gentle for the incredible strength Arthur knew he possessed. Had he wanted to, Alfred should have been able to break free of the hold with no effort. "Let me go. We are wasting time."

"No. Not until you tell me what you meant by that. If it is your intention to mock me for my choices, so be it, but I expect you to say it to my face. Or is it common in demon culture for insults to be passed behind one's back like children?"

"Demon culture?" Alfred snarled, his lips curling and nostrils flaring wide, sharp teeth glinting even beneath the shadow of the trees. "Fine. You want me to list your misdeeds for you? It would take me days, weeks, perhaps even years to tell you of all the wickedness you have brought. You and your Church are nothing more than a disease that has stricken this land, spreading farther with each step you take. You poison the very air that we breathe!"

"You know nothing about the Church! You are just-" Arthur stopped abruptly, turning his gaze downwards. His fingers unwound from their clenched positions around Alfred's arm, and the warm air seemed to grow heavy around his body as he let his hand fall back to his side. The sunlight bore down upon his shoulders and head.

"I am just what?"

Arthur chuckled, a mirthless sound that grated against his ears. "In a way, I suppose you're right."

A sparrow chirped in the trees ahead of them, and the leaves rustled as it spread its wings and took flight. Arthur kept his gaze focused upon the ground. The tall grass, growing shorter now under the shade, whispered softly as Alfred's boots stepped forward into his vision. "I am?" the demon man asked, voice quiet with confusion.

"In some ways, yes, you are." Arthur did not lift his head. "A year ago, had you told me those same words, I would have shouted, argued, even fought against them, yet now…" He lifted his hands, staring at the pale skin. It was the skin of a priest, of a scholar, of a man unaccustomed to a life of labor. "I no longer know what to believe."

"I do not understand."

Arthur shook his head. One hand slid down into his satchel, searching around inside until it came in contact with the spines of his pendant. He drew it out, but did not let his gaze linger upon it, instead cradling it between his palms and looking up to meet Alfred's eyes. "You said that I am a priest. That is not true. In the past, yes, but no longer." His thumb smoothed across the pendant's surface. "They taught me almost everything I know about the world and its inhabitants. I was a boy, simply a young, impressionable boy, and I believed every word that passed through their lips. I am no longer that boy. Now, my mind is my own, and I am free to question anything that I please."

Alfred stared at him, eyes narrowed, but beginning to brighten with understanding. "You questioned them?"

"Yes, I did. I questioned, and they were not pleased by what I asked, just as I was not happy with their answers." He frowned, not at Alfred but at himself. "I left them two days ago."

"Then, that's why you would not go back to Lamglen?"

"How could I show my face there, after walking away from them? I have my pride, and I do not want to cast it aside, vice as it may be."

Silence reigned between them. Alfred glanced to the side, his eyes lingering on something within the trees. "I… I misjudged you."

The words were an apology, as neutral as Alfred's tone remained, and Arthur nodded in acceptance. "You had reason to, I suppose. I have not done anything to show you otherwise." He slowly slipped the pendant back into the confines of his satchel. "I wonder, sometimes… Have I truly let the Church go? Is that part of my life utterly sealed away? Or is there some place within me where I am still a priest?" He sighed. "Never mind. It was a foolish discussion, and we are wasting time standing here."

Alfred did not move. His brows furrowed, his lips turned downwards, as though he was deep in conversation with himself. Arthur watched as some sort of faint emotion flickered across the demon's face, something soft and almost vulnerable. "I want to show you something."

"Show me something?" Arthur repeated, uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"I can't explain it to you. It is something that you must see for yourself." Alfred turned away, facing deeper into the heart of the woods, but did not start moving. Arthur took one cautious step forwards, then another, until he stood directly beside Alfred, neither regarding each other, merely staring into the sun-dappled trees. They did not move nor speak for a long while.

Arthur was the one to break their quiet peace. "This place that you intend to show me, is it out of the way? Will it slow down our progress to Almsloch?"

"Yes, but only slightly. It will not take more than an hour, two at most, to see it before returning to our path." Alfred hesitated a moment. "This place… It will help you."

"Help me?"

"With your dilemma. With the Church."

"How?" Arthur asked. He turned to look up at Alfred's face, and was surprised to see blue eyes staring back at him.

"You'll see."

Arthur did not ask any more questions, and so Alfred said nothing else, merely stepped forward into the forest. His steps were shorter this time, though no less quick. Arthur followed him easily. The boughs of the forest grew thicker and more tangled above their heads, blocking out what little sunlight had managed to trickle through their leaves. The trees faded into shadow. In this wood, time meant nothing, either passing by in a blink of an eye or rolling on for eternities, and Arthur began to lose track of how long it had been since they had begun walking. He was no longer sweating in the heat, as the air was cooled somewhat by the heavy shade, but his legs were beginning to ache with the strain of such constant movement. Yet he did not ask Alfred to stop, for within the dark shadows he could feel the gaze of many eyes upon him. As long as he remained close to Alfred, he did not fear them, but he did not wish to stay amongst them all the same.

He did not know how much longer they traveled, only that the ache in his muscles was beginning to fade into numbness, when his nostrils caught the scent of smoke. "Alfred?" he said, "Are we almost there?"

"Almost." Alfred's footsteps did not slow. Nothing more seemed to be forthcoming, so Arthur allowed their conversation to sink back into silence.

Soon, the thick darkness of the forest began to thin, sunlight once again streaming down into the undergrowth. The sensation of being watched grew fainter with every step. Tree trunks became smaller, less mature, and dotted here and there were rough stumps that seemed to have been hewn by an axe. Arthur nearly tripped over an upright stone marker that bordered the edge of what appeared to be a dirt path. "Are we near a village?" He could not help but wonder what Alfred would want to show him within such a place, or how he intended to get close enough to other humans without causing a panic.

Alfred's voice was gruff when he spoke again. "Yes, we are. But that is not what I brought you here to see. Follow me."

Arthur hesitated, his gaze roving down the dirt pathway. It was a hunting path, most likely, and the lack of grass gave it the look of being well used. If he followed it, he would find himself once again in the company of human beings, not stuck with a demon as a companion. They could give him a soft bed to sleep in, good food to eat, perhaps a helpful hand in reaching his destination. Should he show them his pendant, they might even have believed he was still a priest, and accord him high honors and the best of every accommodation. And yet… He turned his head to find Alfred watching him from several feet away. The demon was leaning on his longbow, head cocked slightly sideways. "Well?" Alfred asked. "What do you plan to do?"

"I…" Arthur's eyes flicked from demon to hunting path and back again. "If I were to go down this path and leave you here, would you shoot me in the back?"

Alfred shook his head. "No."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Have I betrayed you yet?"

"No." Arthur stared down the path again. He could smell the smoke more strongly now, and amongst it the scent of cooking meat. There was something else as well, something sweet, that he did not recognize. His stomach growled with hunger. "What village is down there?"

"Dartwell." Alfred inclined his head, though his eyes did not stray from Arthur's own. "A village that takes pride in knowing it is high in the Church's favor."

Arthur frowned. "Why are you not trying to persuade me to go with you?"

"Why should I? I barely know you, and I know that you do not trust me. I have nothing to offer that you could not get from somewhere else." Alfred's gaze flickered, nearly glowing blue in the dappled sunlight. "The decision is yours and yours alone."

"Some demon you are." But Arthur was once again focused on the hunting trail, his lips still curved downwards as he thought. It should have been an easy decision to make, yet something within him refused to allow the choice to be made so soon. The path was clear before his eyes, solid beneath his feet, and he knew that the logical course to take would be to walk away, to leave Alfred behind and return to human society. He was not trained to walk through the woods like this, not like Alfred. He needed human companionship. Arthur did not look away from the dirt path, but he could feel Alfred's gaze burning into him. Traveling with the demon had not been easy. His only companion was a man he barely knew, and a demon at that. Their route put him in the way of near constant danger. He was a priest, not an adventurer, and the journey frustrated him far more than it had excited him.

And yet… He chanced a quick look back at Alfred. The demon's face remained neutral, his chin resting upon the tip of his longbow, watching, waiting for a response. Arthur's frown deepened. Though he knew it was nonsensical, that he was simply asking for more trouble, but there was some part of him that was curious. Alfred was not what he had been expecting. He had a name, a sense of humor, however bizarre, and he must have had some kind of story. Arthur had always craved new tales. He clenched his eyes shut, drawing in a deep breath. This was ridiculous. He could not make a decision based on his wants alone, especially not when it involved risking his life.

He turned to Alfred. "Well?" he asked, voice sharp. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought you had something you wanted to show me." He had never been particularly good at following his own advice, after all.

Alfred stared at him for a minute, eyes wide, and then his lips curved up at the corners. They did not stop at a faint smile this time, though. They slid open, revealing those predatory teeth, and yet somehow, it was not terrifying. It was the charming smile of a young man, cheeks dimpling, eyelids creasing, not that of a demonic being. Arthur could not stop his own lips from twitching upwards in reply. He attempted to hide it with a furrow of his brow.

"Come on, then," Alfred said, his smile fading somewhat. He gestured into the wood. "Follow me."

Arthur spared himself one more glance down the hunting trail. He would not have another chance to turn back until they arrived at Almsloch. Strangely enough, he did not regret his choice. He strode quickly after Alfred. Though nothing more was said between them, the silence was neither thick nor heavy, but subtle, soft, almost comfortable.

As they traveled onwards, the sweet odor that Arthur had noticed before grew more powerful. The scent overpowered all others, becoming pungent and sickly, and Arthur nearly choked on the air itself. Alfred's free hand was clasped firmly over his sensitive nose. The trees around them grew thinner, more sparse, and finally stopped altogether as they passed into a large clearing.

"We are here," Alfred said quietly. Arthur moved forward for a better look at whatever he was meant to see.

In the center of the clearing sat a large mound. It was not made of dirt, and no grass grew upon its slopes. Arthur peered at it, but could not make out what formed the shape. Set around the strange hill were tall pikes, carved crudely of various sized branches, and hanging from each pike were what appeared to be bags of some sort, made of tattered cloth. Smaller bags crowned the tops of the pikes. "What is this?"

"Step closer," Alfred told him. "You will see." His eyes were dull, muted gray.

Arthur cast the demon a confused glance before doing as was suggested. He focused on the pikes and their strange decorations. The large bags almost seemed to be made of clothing, now that he was nearer, and looked as though they were filled with some kind of thick, pale material. He took another step forward, paying no attention to the ground before him, and nearly fell forward into the grass as the toe of his boot caught on something below him. He crouched down to examine the object. It was long and pale, much like the material in the bags, but the far end was partially buried in dirt and grass. He looked back at Alfred again, who had not moved from his position at the very edge of the clearing. The demon man only nodded his head. Slowly, very slowly, Arthur slid his fingers along the object, his hands trembling at the familiar smoothness, until they reached the mess that shielded its far end. He closed his eyes as he brushed the dirt away, and drew in a shaking breath before opening his lids again.

It was an arm, ending in the small palm and slender fingers of a woman. A marriage band, tarnished now by the grass in which it lay, decorated one of its fingers. Arthur fell back in shock, barely able to catch himself on his own hands before his head collided with the ground. His gaze, wide with the fear of what he now knew he was going to see, moved along the ground to the base of the nearest pike and climbed up towards the bag that hung upon it. But it was no bag, not at all, and Arthur choked on nothing, gasping, as his eyes met a disfigured human body, limbs torn asunder and likely scattered on the grass around him, though he did not look. The tattered cloth was dirty now, but it must once have been a dress, something beautiful to cover the body of the woman who hung upon the pike. Her head sat atop it, eyes rolled back and rotting, mouth open and tongue hanging out into the air. Long blonde hair was now a tangled mess surrounding the tip of the pike where it emerged from her skull.

Arthur crawled backwards, unable to push himself back onto his feet, or to look away from the gruesome spectacle of the woman's broken body. His hand came into contact with something smooth and cold, his fingers brushing across what felt like toes, and he pulled away as though he had been burned. His breath caught in his throat again, choking him as he struggled away.

"Arthur." A gloved hand seized his upper arm, and he was lifted to his feet with the ease of inhuman strength. He tore his eyes away from the bloody monument before him, staring up into Alfred's face, Alfred whose brows were furrowed, whose lips were forming more words that Arthur could not bring himself to comprehend. Try as he did to keep them from straying back, Arthur found himself once again looking into the center of the clearing, this time seeing the mound that lay in the midst of the pikes, the pile of festering bodies. He choked again and pulled himself away from Alfred and collapsed to his knees. He wretched once, twice, and vomited onto the ground in front of him.

Alfred's hand grasped his arm again, lifting him up, but his knees would not hold him and he sagged, limp, in the demon's hold. The stench of decay, that sickly sweet perfume, overwhelmed his senses. He nearly vomited again when Alfred released him. Lying on the ground, eyes wide but blank as they stared straight up at the sky above him, Arthur only faintly realized that Alfred was winding his arm around him, cradling him to a broad, solid chest. There were clouds in the sky now, and they moved as Alfred did, before vanishing behind the covering of tree branches. The smell was fading. Arthur closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he found himself curled up on a bed of soft moss. He could hear the merry sound of water splashing over rocks, tempting him to go and wash out the horrid taste within his mouth, yet he did not move at first, merely lay there and thought back to what he had seen. The very image caused his stomach to churn. When he blinked, it flashed before him again, and he forced himself up into a seated position.

"You're awake." Arthur glanced over to see Alfred standing beside the trunk of a tree. The forest's edge broke only mere feet from the banks of the stream. Alfred did not meet his eyes, instead staring out at the water.

"Why did you show that to me?"

"I did not realize it would have such a strong affect on you." Alfred's gaze flickered over to Arthur for an instant before glancing away again. "I should not have done so."

Arthur slowly lifted himself onto his feet. "That is not what I asked. Why did you show that to me?"

"You said you no longer know what to believe. I thought it would help you decide."

"Are you saying…" Arthur sighed. He too looked away, following Alfred's gaze to the stream. It was small, more of a trickle than a current, and gleamed beneath the afternoon sun. "The Church committed those horrors?" The words were not truly a question, for the answer was obvious.

He did not hear Alfred move, as he never did, but when he looked back again the demon man was standing by his side. "Not in the way that you are thinking. The priests were not fully responsible. They did not kill those people, not directly."

"Then who did?"

"Their willing audience. Those fanatics in Dartwell, who think only to please the Church." Alfred's teeth flashed in the sunlight as he bared them, disgust written clearly across his features. "The priests taught them that unbelievers, heathens, were lower than those who praised their god. The people of Dartwell took those words to heart."

"But the Church never advocated for such senseless murder. We- It asks for peaceful solutions, not gruesome displays."

"Perhaps." A small fish leaped out of the water and fell back with faint splash. Both men stared at the place where it had disappeared. "Do you think the Church punished them, the murderers?"

Arthur did not hesitate. He shook his head. "No."

Alfred let out a grunt of agreement. "I was there. They did not see me, but I watched as those people welcomed acolytes of the highest rank, dressed in brown instead of white, and I watched as they showed off their dead with pride, and I watched as they were rewarded."

"It is truly a horrible, disgusting thing," Arthur agreed, his voice quiet, drawing his arms in close around himself. The memory of that woman's dismantled figure sent a tremor rolling through his body. To think, that just days earlier he had been a part of that order. "I… I find it hard to believe that people can act in such an inhuman manner."

"Inhuman?"

Arthur turned to meet a sharp blue stare. "Inhuman," he repeated. "To revel in such displays of violence, to take pride in cruelty… I would never have thought human beings were capable of being so-"

"Monstrous," Alfred suggested.

There was silence for a moment, before Arthur nodded. "Monstrous." He shivered again. "Leaving those bodies there, the remains of those poor people, in such a monument to their murder, is a mockery of their lives. It's an injustice. They should have been buried, laid to rest, at the very least. I cannot believe…" He trailed off, unable to find the words to convey the true depth of his emotions.

They set up camp there for the night, for the sun was beginning to slide low in its arc towards the far distant Eirann Sea, and they would not be able to travel much farther before darkness cloaked their path. Arthur's stomach was beginning to settle from the turmoil Dartwell's dead had caused. It growled with hunger as he bent to gather another armful of branches for their fire. He cast a look back at Alfred, who still had not moved from his crouch at the edge of the stream bank. His eyes were focused intently on the water, not straying even when fish leaped out in their quest to move up the current. Arthur continued to watch him as he moved back towards the small fire and set his load of wood down a safe distance away. Alfred did not seem to have any intention of moving, so Arthur settled himself carefully on the ground, allowing his feet to be warmed by the crackling flames.

Without warning, Alfred stood, shoulders strong and face set with some unknown decision. "There is something I have to do," he said.

"What?" Arthur rose to his feet as well. "Are you going hunting for supper?"

Alfred shook his head. "Not tonight."

"Then, where are you going? I'll come as well."

"No, stay here."

Arthur scowled. "Why? What are you going to do?"

"Something important." Alfred hesitated a moment, before reaching beneath the leather of his jacket to pull out his hunting knife. He laid it on the ground by his feet. "To keep you safe while I'm gone," he said simply, catching Arthur's questioning gaze. "I will not be far. Scream if you are in any mortal danger." Before Arthur could demand a more meaningful answer, or even begin to plan to stop him, Alfred vanished into the darkening woods. Arthur stood there a moment longer, staring after him, then let out an angry sigh and moved over to where the knife lay upon the mossy ground. As he knelt to gather it into his hands, his stomach growled again.

By the time Alfred returned, silent as always, the sun had completed its pathway across the sky, and night had fallen over the land. Arthur looked up from where he sat before the fire, but did not rise. His lips turned downwards in a frown. "So, you are finished with whatever you absolutely had to do? How lovely. I caught fish with your knife, which was far too difficult to attempt ever again, let me assure you, and though I was not certain what you were doing, for some reason I decided to catch one for you as well. I have no idea why- for all I know, you could have been out feasting on flesh in the moonlight or whatever nonsense you demons do, but there it is." He gestured at the slender fish that roasted upon a stick over the flickering flames.

Alfred stood still, eyes wide. His lips parted slightly, then closed again, and twitched upwards at the corners. He strode forward into the light and sat by the side of the fire, across from Arthur. "It looks somewhat charred," he said as he reached into the flames, heedless of their heat.

"It would not have been had you returned earlier. I-" The words that Arthur had been preparing to speak fell silent as his eyes took in the sight of Alfred's arm, and he drew in a startled gasp. "Is that blood?"

"What?" Alfred followed Arthur's gaze to where the sleeve of his coat met the edge of his glove. Dark liquid stained the creases of both, dripping down onto the ground beneath him. He turned his face away. "It is nothing."

'Take off your glove," Arthur demanded.

"No."

"Alfred, take off your glove." Arthur lifted himself to his feet, moving around the fire until he stood beside Alfred. The demon man glared up at him, eyes almost black in the light, and clutched his arm to his chest. The movement reminded Arthur of a petulant child. "Remove your glove this instant, Alfred!"

"You cannot tell me what to do," Alfred growled, turning further away. Arthur followed, and grasped the very tip of the glove's middle finger before pulling it harshly off of Alfred's hand. The demon hissed in pain, trying once again to shield himself within the comforting cloak of the darkness, but Arthur had seen enough. Thick blood ran freely across the scarred expanse of Alfred's hand, staining his skin deep red.

"Did you encounter something in the woods?" When Alfred did not reply, Arthur lifted the glove he still held and shook it before the demon's face. "You are bleeding. If you refuse to tell me what happened, you must at least clean your wounds! They will become infected."

"It does not matter. I'll heal."

Arthur gritted his teeth, shoulders hunching as he struggled to contain his anger. He did not know why such a foolish thing caused such a reaction within him, but he could not seem to stop. He cast Alfred's glove to the ground. "Very well, bleed to death for all I care." He said nothing else, turning and storming back to the opposite side of the fire. Alfred did not lift the glove, merely continued to clutch his hand to his chest and stare into the dark. The fish sizzled within the fire. It was slowly burning to an inedible husk. Neither moved to stop it. The silence drew out, and with it ebbed Arthur's anger. The chill of the night seemed to settle deep into his bones. He moved closer to the fire and sighed. "Alfred, where did you go?"

"Back," said Alfred, without looking up.

"Back where?" Alfred said nothing, and Arthur tried again. "To Dartwell?" Alfred nodded, slow but certain. "Why?"

As though a heavy weight held his head down, Alfred ever so slowly lifted his gaze to meet Arthur's eyes over the flames. The black had faded. Alfred's eyes were as pale as moonlight, as sad and distant as the stars, and Arthur could not find any words to speak. The sounds of the night around them seemed to fade. "I buried them," Alfred said.

Arthur said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Instead, he made his way over to the stream, and stared down into its moonlit waters. He turned, his eyes connecting with Alfred. He held out his hand. Alfred did not move for a moment, stared with those sad eyes. Arthur's hand did not waver. The firelight flickered as Alfred stood and moved forward. He knelt upon the stream bank, and Arthur knelt with him, and together they removed Alfred's other glove and dipped his hands into the cool water. Gently, ever so gently, they washed the blood away.

* * *

A/N- First off, I'm so sorry it took this long to update. I hope a longer-than-normal chapter kind of makes up for it? I'll be doing my best to stick to a more regular schedule this summer, as it does not seem like I will be able to find myself a job. I'm hoping to reach the tenth chapter before I go back to school. Keep your fingers crossed.

Second, I want to be very clear that this is not an attack on any religion. Yes, I am not a religious person, and yes, I do have clear-cut opinions on the subject, but I don't think that religions as a whole are evil or that they advocate murder.

Q & A Time!

Little Misanthrope- The monster was one I made up. Can't tell you more than that, though!

Karatemaster101- Nice guesses! I won't say whether you're right or wrong, but feel free to keep trying.

Everyone who has asked so far- I'm sorry, but no, you can't read the original. I haven't posted it anywhere else and I don't intend to, because I am personally very unhappy with it. Still, I'm glad you're curious, and thank you for asking!

Once again, thanks for all the support! I love seeing all your reviews and faves and alerts. Until next time!


	6. Chapter 5: Spiritus Omnia

As the sun rose to the peak of its journey across the sky, Alfred halted his stride. Arthur stopped beside him. Clouds shielded much of the vibrancy of the sky, swathing the ground in muted grays. The cool air was still, silent, unmoved by even the slightest of breezes. Even the birds and insects were quiet. The world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

But Arthur did not notice any of this, for his gaze was locked upon the city towering out of the forest before them. Though he and Alfred stood upon the crest of a tall hill, in order to see over the canopy of the thick forest, Almsloch still rose high above them. It was like nothing Arthur had ever seen before. He had heard tales about its magnificence, had seen the sketches done by other priests who had been awarded the privilege of being sent within its walls, had listened eagerly to the rumors of the city being even more wonderful than the royal capital, but he had never expected this.

Though Almsloch was a city built within the depths of the woods, it did not look like any of its closest neighbors. It stood tall, proud, built of smooth, carved stone instead of heavy oak beams. Huge walls rose up around the city, and from those walls rose sturdy towers. A large, ornate gate, wrought of glittering steel and gold, blocked the road from traveling straight into the heart of the city. The walls kept most of its architecture hidden from sight, save for one lone spiraling tower, which soared high above everything else. It looked almost as if, were it any taller, it would pierce the clouds themselves. Every inch of the city radiated purity and faith. Part of Arthur's heart leaped with joy at the sight.

"Well," said Alfred, "there it is. Almsloch."

Arthur's elation dampened immediately, and he turned to look up at Alfred. The man's face appeared neutral, but his eyes were stormy gray, far darker than even the cloudy sky above them. Arthur briefly wondered what could have been troubling him so, then remembered Alfred's unholy heritage. His mouth twisted downwards into a frown. "Yes, Almsloch. I suppose you will not be accompanying me further?"

Alfred shook his head. "I told you that I would guide you here, and here you are."

"Very well." Arthur hesitated a moment, before extending his hand. "You have my gratitude for leading me. I doubt I would have been able to make it this far on my own, and definitely not so quickly."

There was silence. Alfred stared down at the proffered hand, eyes wide and confused. After a moment, he reached out slowly to take it. "It was no trouble."

Arthur gave him a wry smile. "No trouble? I highly doubt that. But thank you, never the less." He shifted his satchel upon his shoulder and returned his gaze to the glimmering city of Almsloch. It truly was beautiful.

"Good luck," said Alfred. When Arthur moved to stare at him again, his eyes met empty air. Alfred was gone, as silently as ever, and had Arthur not been completely certain that Alfred was real, he would have believed he had dreamed the whole ordeal. Arthur did not dwell on it. There were more pressing matters to attend.

The walk down to the road was quick, faster than Arthur had expected. Though the forest remained thick, and the overcast sky did nothing to disperse the shadows, he found himself unafraid of whatever secrets the trees might have held. His stride was long and evenly paced. He held his head high as he stepped out from beneath the woods and onto the dirt road. It was smooth, carefully tended, without a single groove or print to indicate that anything had passed along its length. He stood there a moment, looking back over his shoulder into the forest, before starting down the road.

It was only as he rounded the bend, and Almsloch rose up straight ahead of him, that he first felt the prickling sensation of being watched. His steps slowed. The only person who had known of his coming was Alfred, and there was no reason for the demon to still be following him, particularly not with his obvious distaste for interacting with humans. However, that left few other options. Arthur cast a wary look around himself. The forest encroaching on both sides of the road seemed bathed in deep shadows. The road behind him was empty, at least as far as he could see, and before him stood the magnificent outer walls of Almsloch. His gaze ran up along the stone façade. There, at the very top, peering out over the battlements, were a number of guards. Though they appeared very small from where Arthur was standing, he could see the glint of faint sunlight reflecting from their armor.

So that was it. Arthur shook himself and continued forward. The guards had been watching him, as was their duty, and there was nothing to be worried about. Yet the oppressive feeling of being spied upon refused to leave.

The gates of Almsloch were larger than they had seemed from afar, and decorated with the most elaborate metalworking Arthur had ever seen. Golden coils spiraled up along the edges, meeting in the middle to form a big, brilliant sun not unlike the pendant still nestled within Arthur's satchel. Below that was an array of perfect gold feathers, all curling up towards the sun. Centered between them, directly across the gap between the two doors, stood what appeared to be a man, draped in long, flowing robes, his cowl hanging low over his face so that any features were obscured. In his hands he held a book, thick and bound with clasps. The sight stole Arthur's breath away.

He stood there in front of them for a moment, merely taking in their wondrous beauty, before he turned his attention back to the matter of getting inside. There were no smaller entryways carved into the gates, no bell to ring, no heavy ring with which to knock upon. He frowned. "Hello?" he called out.

"Hello."

The voice, quiet but gruff, startled Arthur, and he whirled sideways to face the strange man standing in the shadows of the wall. He was dressed in robes reminiscent of the Church, but his chest was covered by thick armor, painted with the symbol of the sun. His arms were also encased in silver gauntlets. Arthur frowned at him. "Are you the gatekeeper?"

"That I am." The man did not move from his position. Now that Arthur looked closer, he could see the hilt of a sword protruding from his belt. "What business do you have in our fair city?"

"My business? I am only hoping to see the legendary library, and perhaps stay the night in one of the taverns. Surely that's nothing to be worried about?" Arthur smiled, but it felt strained upon his lips.

The gatekeeper smiled back, equally strained, defensive. "Of course not. It is my duty to guard the gates here, and questioning travelers is a large part of that." He lifted one hand to gesture behind himself, towards a small door carefully hidden in the shadows. "Forgive me if I do not sound the bell to open the gates themselves. You do not appear to be a visiting dignitary of any kind."

Arthur shook his head. "It would be foolish to expect such treatment. Now, if I may?"

Nodding, the gatekeeper stepped sideways, away from the door, and inclined his head slightly to Arthur as he moved past. "I hope you enjoy your time in Almsloch. Our city is beautiful, and she holds many wonders for travelers to discover."

"Thank you." Arthur unlatched the door and pushed it open, casting one last glance back at the gatekeeper. "I'm certain I will be delighted."

Then he was no longer outside the gates of Almsloch, but within its walls, surrounded by sights and sounds that he had never before experienced in his twenty-five years of life. The door swung closed behind him, but he did not look back at it, instead focused on the street on which he now stood. It was long and wide and curved gently around as it followed the interior of the walls. Braches split off of its side and meandered their way towards what must have been the center of the city. Every inch of the roadways were paved in smooth white stone, polished so heavily that it almost seemed to glow, even in the muted sunlight. Buildings, also formed of the same wondrous stone, rose up from the ground at the edges of the streets. They seemed to be organized precisely within the roads, set up in various groupings that would almost have seemed random save for the preciseness of the way they were built. No wall was too close to another, no balcony extended out over the street, no stairway sat in the path of moving feet. Every inch of the city appeared pristine, utterly spotless.

Even the people were no exception. They stood straight and tall as they made their way around the streets. Children laughed and played, but did not bump into anyone or stumble across the paving stones. The adults chattered amongst themselves as they walked, their arms laden with whatever items they required for that day and time, and though they appeared to be focused upon their conversations, they did not stray from their paths, did not move slightly towards the center of the streets or veer a bit towards the side. Their clothing was pristine, not even a small fleck of dirt visible upon long skirts or leather boots.

Arthur stared at it all for a moment longer, standing still at the very edge of the street. The city seemed absolutely beautiful, wonderful, perhaps even perfect, and yet the lack of faults almost felt strange. He would likely have stood there for even longer had a sudden, pointed sound not caught his attention. Turning to the side, he found himself staring up at the disgruntled face of a man dressed in an oddly clean smith's apron. "Pardon?"

The man's frown deepened, his thick beard tilting downwards alongside his lips. "You're blocking the road."

"Oh." Arthur glanced down at his feet. As he'd thought, he was standing less than a foot away from the inside of the wall, blocking only a small portion of the street. Still, the man's obvious displeasure with a stranger pointed to him having committed some horrible sin, so he inclined his head slightly. "I beg your pardon. I had no intention of getting in your way."

"Well, then, get out of it," the man snapped, as though he was incapable of moving around Arthur.

"My apologies," Arthur said again. He stepped backwards, until his back pressed against the wall. Before the man could pass him by, though, he asked, "You would not happen to know the way to the great library, would you?"

All at once, the smith's entire demeanor changed. The irritation melted away from his features, and was replaced by a sudden joy. The switch was so abrupt that Arthur would have thought it false, were the man's smile not so natural and effortless. "The library? My apologies, sir, I did not realize you were a traveler so devout. I hope you can forgive my rudeness." He bowed low. "I assumed you were one of the reckless heathen visitors we so often receive, here to try to lead us astray from our great god."

"It's no trouble." Arthur smiled. The smith was obviously passionate about his religion, and it made sense to be so when he lived in such a devout city as Almsloch. If what else he said was true, and other visitors did often come to jeer at their religious beliefs, then Arthur could not rightly hold a grudge against the man, not when he had come from such a background himself. And yet, somehow, something about the sudden change felt odd.

"A true man of the faith, I see," the smith said, his posture relaxing further. "We need more men like you to come see our fine city. If it's the library you are looking for, sir, just follow any of those roads and you will come upon it eventually." He gestured towards the various meandering roads that broke off from the seemingly circular street they stood upon. "The library stands in the very center of Almsloch, the core of the city. I am sure you will find what you're looking for within its walls."

Arthur nodded and inclined his head once more. "Thank you, sir. Your city is indeed beautiful, and I have no doubt it will help me find the answers I need." He began to walk away, carefully now so as not to step in front of any of the other city folk.

"Once you are done in the library," the smith called out from behind him, "come and see me at my shop! It is easy to find, and if you just follow the outer road you'll come across it. I can offer you a great deal on whatever metalwork you might need." Arthur called back his thanks and continued on his way.

As he walked, he found himself staring around at the city's architecture once more. The smooth facades of the buildings were so perfect that he would have believed it was impossible, had he not been seeing them himself. Though they were beautiful in their perfection, he could not help the lingering feeling of something being wrong, as though the city itself was sending frightening chills down his spine. The people he passed would only spare him a glance, or perhaps a glare if he stepped in their way, but said nothing to him. Memories of Alfred, and what he had seen in Dartwell, the bloody, ruthless murder of those who disagreed, filled his mind, and though he did his best to push them aside, they only grew in strength as he ventured further into the center of the city.

Before long, the gentle curves of the street evened out, and Arthur stopped to look up at the tall, spiraling tower that he had seen from outside of the city's walls. Even from down at its base it seemed to want nothing more than to pierce the clouds. The tower grew out of a huge, beautiful, ornate building made of the same stone from which all of Almsloch was formed. Instead of the usual smooth walls, though, the library had every inch of space covered in detailed carvings. The large doors, made of the same steel as Almsloch's front gates, also shared their exact design, save for the two glittering amethysts set in the shadowy face of the priest with the book. As Arthur moved forward, the carvings in the walls became clearer, and he soon realized that they were intricate images of scenes from the holy books of the Church. He recognized many of them- the descent of the Sky God as a massive silver eagle, the rising of the demons from the fiery hell beneath the ground, the first of the priests being chosen by trials of wind and water, the fall of the old gods… In those carvings were blood and death and triumph and hope and faith. Arthur's body thrummed with the force of it.

He passed through the front doors, which were propped open by a small wooden block. The interior of the library was just as large as the outside implied. It was somewhat dark, illuminated only by a few small windows carved out from the walls and various torches and candles placed alongside the bookcases and upon the few desks scattered throughout. Books and their shelves took up most of the space, narrow aisles between them linking to one another and creating a simple maze. A long staircase crawled up along the walls, rising from the floor all the way up until it disappeared into the shadows of the tower. A few priests, dressed in the white robes of their order, passed quietly between the shelves. Upon Arthur's entry, they turned to regard him, but soon looked away. The presence of an outsider was not unknown within the library's walls.

Still, Arthur felt as though he did not belong. These archives were sacred to the Church, and he had turned his back on that order. The uneasiness that had accompanied him ever since stepping foot into the city seemed to grow even more oppressive. Though he had no idea where to search, now that he was standing amongst all of these books, he could not bring himself to ask any of the priests for aid. He strode forward into the nearest aisle, avoiding one of the small desks. His gaze skimmed the spines of the books alongside him. They were manuscripts of various sorts, all written by hand, some penned in different styles than others, bound in leather or cloth or wood. There seemed to be many copies of the same texts. None of them were what Arthur was searching for, so he continued onwards.

Shelves passed him by, and one aisle turned into another, and the light shining through the windows began to fade as dusk fell, and still Arthur kept searching. He had come all this way, and risked so much. There was no chance he would turn back now.

Just as he was about to turn and make his way down another aisle, something caught Arthur's eye. The faint light cast by a nearby torch illuminated a small opening between two books. Inside that space, there appeared to be something glistening. Arthur turned and moved towards it. He reached slowly into the opening, wary of what could be lurking in the shadows, and closed his fingers around the unknown object. It was soft in his hand. He unclasped his fingers to peer inside.

It was a feather, small and bent out of shape, as though it had been crushed between books at some time. The pure white of its coloring almost seemed to glow orange in the light. Arthur frowned down at it. Though beautiful, it was out of place in the library. He turned to look up at the nearest window, and the faint rays of fading sunlight, and imagined that the bird must have flown in through there. Hopefully it had escaped.

He slid the feather into his satchel, for no reason other than that it felt wrong to simply drop it to the floor in such a holy place, and would have continued along his way had something else not caught the light from within the shadowy space on the shelf. He reached inside once again, but this time what his fingers found was not soft but hard. At first he almost believed it to be the wood of the shelf itself, and that his eyes must have made some mistake, and then his hand slipped down somewhat, and he felt the sensation of stiff paper glide across his fingers. He grasped at the object, which he knew now to be a book, and pulled it into the open.

Arthur stared down at cover, eyes wide. This book was like none he had ever seen before, and he had seen quite a few over the course of his life. It was bound together by what seemed to be strips of long grass threaded together. The covers were constructed of some sort of polished red wood, smooth and firm to the touch, and into them were engraved various symbols that Arthur could not understand. Some of them almost appeared to be part of some foreign language, perhaps from the lands beyond the Anhael Mountains. The carvings were choppy and rough, as though done hastily. He carefully lifted the front cover. The first page was full of a delicate ink painting of the same unknown priest who decorated the front gates of Almsloch and the library's doors. In this one, though, the cowl was pulled back, and the man's features were visible. The dim lighting of the library made it hard to make out his exact visage, so Arthur leaned closer, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Have you found what you were searching for, my son?"

Arthur started, losing his balance slightly and stumbling backwards to bump against the bookshelf behind him. Several books fell to the floor around him. He turned towards the direction the voice had come from, and found himself looking at one of the small desks. A priest was sitting upon its chair, his cowl raised. Arthur clutched his free hand to his chest. "I beg your pardon, father, you startled me."

The priest chuckled. "It is I who should be apologizing. I had no intention of causing you such a fright." He gestured at the books around Arthur's feet. "I hope you will put those back in their rightful places? I would help you, but my legs are not what they used to be."

Now that Arthur listened more closely, he did notice that the priest's voice sounded vaguely muffled and worn, much like several of the older men from back in Lamglen. He inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, father." Bending down towards the floor, he quickly gathered the books into his arms and went about putting them back in their proper places. When he came to the last one, though, the strange one he had found with the feather, he hesitated. He did not know where to put it, and for some odd reason, he found himself unwilling to part with it without first reading through its contents. He slid it into his satchel, as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. It was not thievery, he consoled himself, for he had every intention of returning it to its shelf once he was finished, and he simply wanted to look at it without a priest nearby to cloud his judgment.

"Are you finished?" the priest asked after a moment. When Arthur nodded, the man waved him over towards the desk. "There is an extra chair by the shelves. You appear troubled, my son. Please, come sit with me and tell me about what bothers you."

Arthur stood there a moment longer, unsure. The unease from earlier was growing stronger by the moment, and he felt as though he was missing something important. Yet there was no good reason to refuse the priest's request, so he made his way over to the chair and carried it back to the priest's desk. "I am not sure my problems are anything that you can help me with, father."

The priest shook his head. "Nonsense. The Church can aid you with whatever you might need." He held his hands out to Arthur, and for the first time, Arthur noticed that they were heavily gloved. That was not part of the traditional priest garb. Almsloch was further north than Lamglen, though, so perhaps they had changed the clothing to suit the cold. "Come, child, tell me of your fears."

"All right." Arthur laid his hands upon the priest's, and was surprised to see just how much larger the man's palms were than his own. Oddly, it reminded him of Alfred. He decided to start the conversation there. "When I was journeying here, father, I met a strange man."

"A strange man? There are many of those in the world. Perhaps a few more details?"

"Well, I suppose he was not really a man." Arthur frowned down at his hands. "He was not human, father."

The priest tilted his head slightly. "Not human? A demon, then?"

"Yes. Or at least, I thought he was one at first. He had teeth like a wild beast, long and sharp, and nails like claws. He was tall, taller than any human could ever achieve. Everything about his appearance was demonic, father- unwashed, strange, inhuman- but…"

"Did it speak to you, child?" The priest's long fingers closed around Arthur's hands, a gentle pressure. "Many demons were granted the use of human speech, to try to lure us astray from the Sky God."

Arthur shook his head. "No. Well, yes, he did speak, but that is not the problem. He saved my life, father. Not only once, but twice. He led me safely through the forest, shared his food with me, protected me from any creatures that could have caused me harm. I cannot help but wonder if he is truly a demon at all."

"How strange." The priest did not release Arthur's hands. If anything, his grip tightened. "It seems you have encountered one of the most cunning of demons. Even if its motives are not clear, such a beast is no less dangerous than its lesser cousins, and perhaps even more so. It was likely trying to win your trust, and will pounce when you least expect it."

"But he did not once try to attack me, or even make any aggressive moves towards me, father."

"It will, my son. See, even now you refer to the demon as a he, not an it. Its sly ways are already at work within your mind, and if you are not careful, it will be able to easily grab hold of you."

"Somehow, I cannot believe that." Arthur stared up at the priest's shadowed face. The man was tall, Arthur realized, even while seated. The shadows cast by his cowl were unnerving. Something cold settled in Arthur's stomach. The feeling of unease was growing to an extreme, and now, he was beginning to understand why. "He showed me something, something important."

"Oh?" The priest's grip on his hands was now almost painfully tight. "What kind of something would that be?"

"Something horrible." The light cast by the nearest torch flickered as the priest's head titled slightly, and for one brief moment, the priest's lower face was illuminated. Or, it would have been, had it not been covered by a cloth mask. Arthur swallowed heavily. "Have you ever heard of the town named Dartwell?"

"Dartwell? Of course. It is the home of some of our most devout followers." The priest's voice sounded different now, less old.

"Then you know what they did?"

"Ah." The priest chuckled. The sound was cruel. "So your demon man showed you what those fine people did? Does it weigh heavily upon your conscience, Arthur Kirkland?"

Arthur tried to pull his hands away. The priest's grip tightened to an immense level. "How do you know my name?"

"Why, word travels fast amongst the Church. I know you abandoned us in Lamglen, and I know why, and I know what you met in those woods. People such as you and your companion are dangerous to the continued wellbeing of our order. I had to keep an eye on you, you must understand."

Arthur shuddered. He did not try to pull his hands away again. "What is beneath your mask, father?" he demanded.

"Do you not know?" There was no trace of elderly innocence in that voice anymore. The priest abruptly released Arthur's hands and raised his fingers to pull down his cowl, revealing cruel violet eyes as vibrant as sunsets, as vast as the sky, and a pale, youthful face. His other hand hooked in the top of his mask. "Tell me, Arthur Kirkland, what am I?"

Arthur did not respond. He did not need to, for in the next moment, the priest pulled the mask downwards to show a smile full of the sharp, dagger-like teeth that Arthur knew all too well. He could not bring himself to move away. All he could see was the face of a monster, dressed in the robes of a holy man, flickering with the light of flames, and all he could think was that he wished Alfred were there beside him.

* * *

A/N- Please don't yell at me for taking such a long time between updates? I've been writing other things- the Summer Camp stuff and a few one-shots, all of which will be put up sooner or later. I do apologize for keeping you all waiting, though.

Anyway, there are parts of this chapter that I like and parts that I don't, and overall I'm slightly unsatisfied with it. But the last time I said that, several people assure me it was good, so hopefully the same applies here?

Q&A Time!

Serya-chan- Merci beaucoup!

Empress Vegah- You'll have to wait a while for Arthur's feelings in this one! I'm trying to make everything more realistic, and developing feelings for a demon who doesn't actually look human will take some time.

Semebay- Love the ideas. I'll see what I can do to put them in.

Cacophony of Screams- Ooh, nice guesses. And yes, I suppose what Alfred is does exist in folklore- kind of. I'm changing it up a bit for the storyline's sake. You'll see just what he is later on! And yes, Hanatamago will still be basically the same kind of devil dog as before.

Thanks so much for all the reviews, faves, and alerts! I love getting the notices in my inbox.

Oh, one last note. For all the people who keep asking about "Game of Thrones"- IT WILL BE UPDATED WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT. It was never meant to become a constant fic, just something to work on when I wanted. I love getting reviews, but asking me to update it isn't going to speed up the time between updates. Sorry, and thanks for understanding.


	7. Chapter 6: Imperitum

The priest's long teeth glimmered and sparked in the light of the torches, but the rest of the library seemed to darken even as Arthur watched. Those violet eyes burned into his skin, as though searching for his deepest secrets, though Arthur could not help but think that the priest already knew them all. "You're one of them," he hissed.

"One of them?" the priest repeated, his smile lessening somewhat. "I assume you mean an uncivilized wild man such as the one you have been travelling alongside. I can assure you that I am nothing at all like that." Though his voice sounded almost sweet, gentle, the malevolent glint in those eyes said anything but. "No, I am something far greater than the mere likes of that beast could achieve."

Arthur cast his gaze around, careful not to stray too far from the demon before him, but growing increasingly desperate for some method of escape. This demon was not like Alfred- he had understood that even before the words had been spoken. This demon would not hesitate to harm him. "But you are like him. Your eyes, your teeth… Those are both traits you share with him." Something within him insisted that he should not speak Alfred's name.

The priest's smile warped and widened until it became a grimace. "In physical appearance, yes, I suppose you are correct. But mentally? I am far superior. And, should this demon man of yours show his miserable face, who do you think would triumph in our fight?"

This was not a safe topic of conversation, not when Arthur seemed to be alone, so he thought quickly and asked the first questions that came to his mind. "How did you enter here? What did you do to the priest who owned those robes?"

"These robes? Why, Arthur, these robes are my own." The demon plucked at the long sleeves that draped down to partially conceal his gloves. "They were tailored to my form, designed to fit me perfectly. The robes of a human would be unable to cover me."

"So then you are tall as well." The knowledge only worsened the desperation that pulled at Arthur's mind. He pressed himself back against his chair.

"Come now, Arthur." The demon clicked his teeth. "I had heard such good things about you in the past. The Lamglen branch of our order was ever so proud of your intelligence. Yet you keep saying ridiculous things and asking questions to which you already know the answers." He drummed his gloved fingertips against the table, and Arthur could almost envision the wicked claws hidden within the cloth.

"If the robes are your own," Arthur began slowly, though his voice sounded strange to his own ears, "and they were tailored for you, that must mean that people know you are here."

"And?" the demon coaxed.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. It choked and stuttered, and for a long moment, he could not find air with which to breathe in his shock. "That would mean that they want you here. That would mean that they have no desire to be rid of you."

"Ah," said the demon. "Now that is the correct answer. You understand now the position into which you have gotten yourself."

"But…" Arthur strove for words that he could not find.

The demon cocked his head sideways, eyes wide and burning with false innocence. "But what, Arthur?" When no response to his question was forthcoming, the demon sighed. "I expected better of you. When I first learned that you were journeying in this direction, I was ever so excited. Rare are the times when I can find a worthy opponent to my intellect. Though it seems that in your case, you were overrated by your former peers, and you are nothing more than the average, foolish humans I find myself surrounded by each day. What a pity." He leaned forward, his unnatural height giving him the ability to reach almost the whole way across the table, and smiled into Arthur's face. "But what, Arthur? Finish your sentence, and perhaps I can give you some sort of answer for whatever you might be questioning."

"But…" Arthur could not bring himself to tear his gaze away from the knife-like teeth before him. Still, he tried to focus his thoughts. "But how? How can you be here, parading around in the robes of a priest? This is a holy city. The people here would not accept you, not when you are such a monster!"

At the sound of that word, the demon's smile twisted into a snarl. "A monster indeed. You are a fool, Arthur, worse than any man I have encountered before. How am I a monster? Yes, I may not be a weak human such as yourself, but I am no beast, not like your wild man in the woods."

Arthur held his tongue, fighting back the sudden, strange urge to argue on Alfred's behalf. He had no reason to vouch for the merits of the other demon. Doing so would only make his dangerous position even more precarious. "Then what are you?"

The demon merely stared at him for a long moment, his lips still twisted in their hideous scowl, before he sat back in his seat and folded his hands over his chest. "What am I? I suppose I cannot fault you for not knowing immediately, not after you abandoned your faith so young, but I must say that I'm disappointed." He shook his head. "Tell me, have you forced out all of our Church's teachings, or does your silly little mind recall any of it?"

"I'm not stupid!" Arthur growled. His hands curled into fists, though he did not dare raise them.

"Then I will take that to mean that you retain at least the basic knowledge of the Church." The demon smiled, and it still held traces of the earlier snarl. "Very good. Now, do tell me if you recall this story. Once upon a time, the great Sky God built this blessed land for his peoples to live upon. However, they often strayed from the divine pathway that he had designed for them, and he grew frustrated with their lack of faith and belief in himself and his guidance. But he was a kind god, and he had put so much time and effort into shaping his peoples, so he did not want to be forced to destroy them. Instead, he gave them a boon, a great gift to draw them back onto their destined path. Do you know what he gave them, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded slowly. The pieces were beginning to form themselves into a whole within his mind, but he did not want to believe the image that they were creating. "His son. The Sky God gave them his son."

"Yes, his son. And this was no mere creation, no golem formed from the mud like humanity. No, this was truly the Sky God's son, a man in his father's own image. This son, this emblem of mercy, was sent down from the sky to the lands of his father's peoples. He alit upon the ground in the form of a mighty eagle, just as his father had done so many long centuries before. His father's command was fresh in his mind, a simple order to push his straying peoples back onto the trail they were meant to walk, and he intended to do it quickly and easily. He called for the humans to gather around him, to follow him back onto their path.

"But did the peoples of the earth obey?" The demon snorted. The sound echoed through the library, harsh and unnatural, and Arthur winced. "Of course not. They had spent far too much time following their own greedy ways, caring only for themselves instead of for the great god who had brought life to their mud-hewn bodies so long ago. Turning their backs on the merciful gift of the Sky God, they continued to pursue the demonic virtues they had learned." Here the demon paused, as if in thought, his gaze flickering over to the torches burning on the far wall. "The son wanted to kill them all, did you know?" he said, as though this was a normal conversation. "They do not write that part in our holy books, but it's the truth. He wanted nothing more than to strike them all dead where they stood. Disrespecting him meant disrespecting his father, and that would not do.

"And yet, when the son told his father of what had happened, and what he intended to do to punish them, the Sky God refused. Even after they had turned their backs on him, he still intended to give them another chance." The demon snorted again, his face contorted with disgust. "It was a foolish decision, but the son continued to follow his orders, because he loved his father." His eyes burned as they met Arthur's gaze. "He still loves his father. He would do anything for the Sky God, anything to make him happy, because that is what such a divine being deserves, is it not? Pure, unrivaled happiness?"

Arthur drew in a shaking breath. "You're insane."

The demon ignored him. "So the son went back down to earth, this time even more determined to turn the minds of the peoples back to faithfulness. They still did not listen, not at first, but the son had a new idea, a new strategy to persuade them of he and his father's righteousness. He created this Church, built it up from the raw depths of the earth. Its magnificence drew in a few, the most devout, and that gave the son the hope he needed to continue his work. If the Church was this wonderful at its birth, surely it could be even greater still?" The demon's eyes gleamed. "And so he built it higher, drew in more strength and power, all in the name of his great father, the Sky God who had created all the humans who now flocked to its doors. The Sky God was so proud of him. He had turned the peoples feet back onto their path, back into the mold his father had set for them. It was truly a beautiful thing."

"You can't mean-" Arthur began, but the demon cut him off once more.

"The Church, a symbol of the creator, of the Sky God himself, grew greater and greater beneath the guidance of the son. He was not human, and as such did not think or act as a human would, relying on his father's blood and instincts to forge onwards. And forge onwards he did. Whole cities were built in the Sky God's name, and hundreds of the devout now journey to them every year. Small churches have been constructed in every village along the roadways. Every human within the borders of this realm recognize the robes of a priest, and even the lands beyond the mountains have begun to praise the Sky God's name. And do you know why this is?" The demon abruptly pushed himself to his feet. He towered over Arthur's seated form. "Do you know why this is?"

Arthur shook his head helplessly. "You… You cannot be…"

"You cannot be, you cannot be," the demon repeated, tone mocking. He leaned forward, down, until his gaze was level with Arthur's eyes, burning violet boring deep inside him. "Why not? Would you really deny the truth? Can you not see it with your own eyes?"

"All I see is a monster," Arthur growled.

The demon sneered at him. "A monster. A demon. You are blind, Arthur. In turning away from our Church, you have lost the ability to differentiate between good and evil. How could I, a son of the Sky God, be one of your wild demons from the wood? Some of them may have stolen my form in an attempt to tear down this Church, but I will not allow them to succeed. And if you are on their side, Arthur Kirkland, I cannot allow you to leave here." He shifted, an ever so slight movement to the side, as though he was intending to walk around the table.

At the first sign of motion, Arthur leaped to his feet, thrusting himself backwards and nearly tripping as he collided with the end of a bookshelf. "You are insane," he said again.

"No. I may be many things, but insane is not one of them." Though the demon's steps were slow, measured, he crossed the space between them in mere seconds and pinned Arthur to the wall with one large gloved hand. "Insanity is a disease cast upon humans and mere demons, never on one with the blood of a god."

"But that is impossible!" Arthur struggled against the demon's grip, limbs thrashing in a desperate attempt to strike at him, but the monster seemed to ignore it. "You cannot be the Sky God's son! You- You are nothing but another demon."

The demon only smiled, a small, almost sad smile, and his eyes glinted with firelight. "Such a pity. I am no demon, you blind fool. It was they who took on my form, in a failed attempt to destroy the grand deeds I have accomplished with the word of the Sky God. Their lies have infiltrated your ears and poisoned your own mind against you. You once had such promise, but now you have fallen from the graces of my father, and you are nothing more than the monsters you travel alongside. It truly pains me to see such a lost soul wandering these lands." The demon's hand slid upwards, still holding Arthur tight against the wall, and seized around his neck. "In the name of my father, I will put you out of your misery."

As those strong fingers tightened and his breath caught, Arthur struggled to spit out his next words. If he was going to die there, alone in this library, he had no more need to hold his tongue. "The Sky God calls for mercy, not death! He will- He will not forgive you for this, son or not."

"Mercy?" The demon laughed, high and broken. It resounded from the walls, pulsing within Arthur's ears, and the torches flickered. "This is mercy. You have strayed, and my father will understand that you risk leading others to your insanity. I am only protecting those who seek the truth."

Arthur coughed. "But I- I seek the truth!"

The demon sneered. "Not the right one." His fingers slowly began to clench together, digging into Arthur's throat. "Your truth is that of the monsters, the beasts of the night, those who dare to assume that they are above my and my father's dominion. They all deserve death, and the Sky God has long since given me the honor of delivering it. Once, Arthur Kirkland, you followed the right path, the one my father laid out before your feet, but you became corrupted by the demons that infiltrated your mind, and now you are nothing more than one of them. It is not my fault that your death is upon you. It is your own. You allowed yourself to wander, and you forsook your own spirit."

The softness of the demon's gloves contrasted oddly with the powerful grip intent on crushing Arthur's neck. He struggled for breath, his limbs twitching and thrashing, his fingers tearing at the demon's hand even as his chest throbbed from lack of air and his mind grew foggy and dull. Every part of his body felt as though it was gaining weight, drooping, falling away from himself, but still he refused to end his struggle. He had come so far in this journey, and had learned so much. It could not all have been in vain. Yet the demon was too strong. Arthur had experienced the strength of his kind in Alfred's careful hands, and he knew that in such a test of muscle, he was no match for this monster.

"Farewell, Arthur," said the demon, though his voice sounded as if it were coming from a great distance away, or perhaps from underwater. "You will suffer for eternity amongst your beastly kin. Fire will burn at your skin, devour you and eat away at your body, but you will never have respite. That is your punishment for following the teachings of the demons. Farewell."

Though Arthur's fading mind could not comprehend many of the words that had been spoken, one seemed to echo within his thoughts. Fire. Something about that small word reminded him of a crucial fact, one that was avoiding him. He could not remember…

From the edge of his gaze, there came a flicker of light. At first he did not understand what it meant, but then the answer flared to life within his mind. Fire. Flames. His arms felt as though they were burdened by heavy chains, and he struggled to lift them. He no longer knew whether the demon was still speaking. He did not care. If he could only touch those brilliant flames-

His fingers grasped wood. He could not feel his own hand, merely watched as it swung out in front of him, a burning torch within its grip. The flames blinded him for a brief second.

And then suddenly he could breathe once again. Air rushed into his mouth, coursing down his throat, and he gasped and staggered to the side. The torch fell from his hands, landing on the stone floor with a resounding clatter. His fingers pulsed with the pain of vicious burns from where he had grabbed the wrong end. The library throbbed with the sounds of his labored breathing.

"You should not have done that," said the priest.

Arthur looked up at him, stared at that cold, pale face lit by flames, and felt his body shudder. "You would have killed me." His voice was hoarse.

The priest did not react to Arthur's words, merely continued to watch him across the gap the burning torch had left between them. "At least you would have died quickly. Now, though…" He gestured down at the fire, and after a moment of hesitation, Arthur followed his gaze.

The flames were spreading. When the torch had fallen from Arthur's fingers, it had rolled along the floor, flickering but not dying, until it reached the base of the nearest bookshelf. The wood had ignited immediately. Arthur stared in horror as the flames crackled up from the ground, grasping with its deadly fingers at the spines of hundreds of books, leaping from shelf to shelf with the grace of an assassin, never once missing its target. Knowledge burned brilliantly, a dance of crimson fire, and then vanished.

"How ironic," said the priest. Arthur did not turn back to look at him, could not seem to draw his eyes away from the growing inferno that he had caused, but the humor lacing the priest's voice was as clear as the chime of a bell. "To have left us for burning books, only to burn down a whole library yourself."

"It was an accident," Arthur breathed. Fire leaped and danced before his eyes, its heat singeing at his skin. "A mistake. I… I never intended to…" Another bookshelf was engulfed by the flames. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard the sound of an alarm bell ringing. It made no difference by then. They were too late to save any of the thousands of words he had set alight.

A hand fell upon his shoulder, strong and heavily gloved. "Accident or not," the priest replied, "it was your fault. The one responsible for this is you." He chuckled, and Arthur could imagine the smirk twisting his features. "At least you have also built your own funeral pyre. It saves me and my brothers from having to go through the effort of burying a traitor like you." That hand pushed Arthur forwards, unresisting, towards the flames.

It was his fault. Arthur stumbled forward, the fire licking at the toes of his boots, but his legs refused to run. It was his fault. How could he flee from his own wrongdoings, when they stared and laughed into his face? He could not have resisted the strength of the priest even if he had tried, so perhaps if he gave in, accepted his defeat, death would be easier on him. The hand shoved him forward again.

"Arthur!"

That voice- He knew that voice. Its sound tore him from the hypnotizing movements of the fire, and he turned towards it, confusion and a strange sense of relief threatening to spill from between his lips. As he turned, though, he felt something rush past him, saw a familiar streak of ragged brown leather, and without warning the priest's hand was ripped away from his shoulder, knocking him sideways, away from the flames. Arthur staggered and nearly fell. He caught his balance at the last moment, staring back among the bookshelves at the scene wreathed in flames.

The voice had belonged to Alfred, of course. Alfred, who should not have been there at all, Alfred who had said he was going to stay in the forest. Alfred, who was grappling with the priest, both of their sets of sharp teeth bared as they snarled and grabbed at one another. Clothing was torn, noses bloodied, sharp, gasping breaths intermingling with the roar of the fires around them. They seemed evenly matched, exchanging blow for blow, shadows against the flames, wearing at each other until one would eventually have to fall, and Arthur was struck by the sudden fear that he might not only have caused the loss of all of the library's knowledge, but possibly Alfred's life as well.

"Alfred!" he called out, desperately needing to do something that could turn the tide. He did not know why Alfred was there, but the danger was his own fault, and he had no intention of letting any others be killed for it. "Alfred, he's-"

But Arthur's cry did more harm than good, for the sound of it caught Alfred off guard. Alfred turned slightly, barely a moment's glance towards Arthur, and the priest lunged forward in the opening provided. The motion was almost too fast for Arthur to follow. The reaction, however, was not. Alfred coughed, eyes wide, stumbling backwards with his hands clutched over his stomach. A thin trickle of red slid out over his lips.

"Give in, monster," the priest said, smiling as though his nose was not crushed to the side. He wiped at the blood that rolled down from one nostril. "You are no match for me."

Growling low in his throat, Alfred shook his head. "You're the same as me. We are evenly matched, no matter what you say." Still, he did not remove his hand from his stomach, though his vibrant eyes burned with fury.

The priest heaved a mocking sigh and turned to glance at Arthur. "Your demon man is as foolish as you are. No wonder you found him such an interesting traveling companion." His fingers flexed within his gloves, and in one swift movement he pulled them both off, revealing clawed nails even longer than Alfred's own. "It's fitting that you should die together in here, I think. You will burn in the fires of your own sins."

"Not if I can stop it." And Alfred rushed forward, swinging wildly at the priest with his fists and claws. One connected, harsh against the priest's pale skin and certain to leave a bruise, but the other was caught in a strong grasp, halted midair and unable to move.

"What makes you think you have any chance against me, demon?" the priest asked, gaze searching across Alfred's face. "How could you defeat me, the son of a god?"

Alfred simply shook his head, lips curling in a pained frown. Every muscle in his body seemed tense. "I see no god. The only thing in front of me is another demon, just like me." The words were tinged with utter disgust.

For one moment, the only sound that could be heard was the crackle of the flames, and in the far distance the sound of the alarm bell. Then the priest roared. It was not a scream, not a shout or a cry. The noise rumbled out from his chest, mounting to a deep, shattering noise, full of words that weren't words at all, but something darker, something deeper, something that had no place in that burning library. The priest's lips curled back in a feral snarl, glinting in the firelight. "You dare speak to me that way? This is the end for you, monster!" Without warning, he threw Alfred's arm aside and lunged in, claws tearing at Alfred's skin. Alfred stumbled back again and again, barely able to defend himself.

"No!" Arthur heard the shriek burst from his own lips. He had no idea what to do, yet his body was moving, lurching to the side, his waist bending and arms reaching down to grasp at the torch that he had dropped before. Every inch of it was burning, with no safe place to hold, the flames biting at his fingers, melting his skin, but he paid it no mind. He had no time to think. All he could do was rush forward, draw his arms back, and swing.

The heavy wooden torch shattered. Splinters flew through the air, and Arthur staggered backward, shielding his face. But the blow had not been in vain. The priest had fallen back, his shoulder crashing against one of the fiery bookshelves, clutching his head in his clawed hands. The flames seemed to have no effect on his skin, but the ends of his robes were beginning to catch, and dark blood trickled down between his fingers.

Arthur had no time to watch that demon, though. He turned towards Alfred, momentarily unable to breathe as he took in the extent of the damage the priest had done. Alfred's coat was tattered to the point of being unwearable, his shirt nearly as bad, and blood poured in rivers down from the gashes. His stomach appeared the worst. Arthur could see right into the muscle. But there was no time.

"Alfred," he called, reaching out. "Alfred, come on, we need to leave." Alfred stared at him, confusion apparent on his face, almost as if he could not see what was right in front of him, his hands pressing weakly upon two of the numerous wounds on his body. Unable to wait, Arthur lunged forward, grabbing those hands and pulling as hard as he could with burned fingers and weary limbs. The library was burning. The priest was still there. They needed to leave, and they needed to leave now. "Come on, come on."

With no thought to gentleness or care, and ignoring the burns along his hands and arms, Arthur guided Alfred out of the thick of the flaming bookshelves, back towards where he hoped he recalled the door to be. Luckily for the both of them, it was there. He cast one helpless glance back into the flames as he reached out to push it open.

What he saw froze his whole body. Standing amongst the burning shelves was the priest, his violet eyes blazing with the inferno. Blood still ran down from his temple, staining one half of his face deep red, dipping into the open snarl of his lips and teeth. His robes were nothing but a wreath of flames, though his skin remained untouched. He looked like a demon brought forth from the very depths of damnation. The fire around him seemed to stretch out like wings of pure fury. His mouth opened, wide and dark and full of knives, and his voice screamed forth. "Arthur Kirkland! This is not the end. You have dared to hit the son of the Sky God, and you will suffer for it. Don't think you'll ever be safe again!" Flaming shelves began to topple around him, his robes burned to vibrant ash, and smoke clouded his figure until he could no longer be seen. When the fire parted for the briefest moment, nothing of his body remained.

Arthur turned and pushed Alfred out the door, his heart pounding away inside his chest. He couldn't look back again. If he looked back, that would be it, the end, for both of them. The priest's words echoed through his mind. He had made an enemy, possibly one of the most powerful enemies in existence, and there was no going back. It was Alfred or death, and though Arthur still wasn't certain about his thoughts on Alfred, he was preferable to certain doom. "Go, Alfred, go," he breathed, desperation lacing his voice.

But outside was no better than the flames. The alarm bell was still ringing, and a crowd was gathering around the library, screaming and rushing for water, for something, for anything that could save their precious building. And as Alfred and Arthur emerged from the smoke, all eyes fell to them. Arthur might have passed as an innocent visitor, perhaps, but not Alfred, never Alfred, and the gazes of the crowd turned from confused and worried to furious in a matter of seconds. The screams became cries of anger. Arthur's already short breath caught in his throat as he looked around him. His hands felt as though they were still burning, and Alfred seemed perilously close to swaying and falling, but he could not seem to get himself to move. The events of the day were swirling through his thoughts, wild and awful and muddled. He could barely focus on the present.

Something sharp bounced off his cheek. He clapped one burned hand to it, uncomprehending, and then a jolt of pain rushed through him. Everything refocused at once, and Arthur grabbed at Alfred's arm and pulled just as another, heavier rock glanced off his shoulder. He still had almost no knowledge of Almsloch, but he rushed towards the nearest street, dragging Alfred along behind him as quickly as he could. Even as he ran, breath puffing out in gasps, he could hear the clatter of the crowd's feet as they started to chase. His satchel thudded against his hip with each motion, singed by the flames but not burnt, and nearly caused him to trip several times. Alfred's staggering pace was not helping. More rocks clattered around them, bouncing off their legs and backs and heads.

"Arsonists!"

"Heathens!"

"Monsters!"

"Demons!"

The shouts rang out through the streets, reverbrating off of the carefully smoothed white walls of the buildings. Those who were not chasing them stared in shock and fear as Arthur and Alfred ran past. Arthur's eyes darted wildly back and forth, searching for an exit- there had to be an exit. But every road looked the same, pristine and perfect and trapping them in an inescapable labyrinth. The alarm bells were still sounding in the distance, a booming toll that seemed to only grow louder and louder, threatening, accusing.

Alfred finally stumbled, tripping forward and colliding with Arthur's back. Arthur just managed to hold him upright, but his own legs were threatening to give out as well. They couldn't rest. Their pursuers were not going to give up that easily. "Come on, Alfred," he gasped out. "We need to find some way out of here." When he glanced back to meet those inhuman eyes, though, he felt his own faint hope flicker. Alfred was far too pale, his eyes milky white instead of their usual blue, and his clothes were soaked through with blood. A brief thought fluttered through Arthur's mind. What if he were to leave Alfred behind? He could escape then, possibly find some way to survive… But he immediately cast it aside. Alfred had come to save him. There was no way Arthur could just leave him to the mercy of the people of Almsloch.

Yet, what then? Arthur kept moving forward, his legs aching with every step, pulling Alfred along and trying to keep that flutter of hope alive. White walls were everywhere. He didn't know where to go. There was nowhere to go.

And then his gaze caught on something up ahead. No, not something- someone, a man who he suddenly realized that he recognized. The thick beard and clean apron were unmistakable, and what little hope Arthur was still holding on to flared up. He did not know why, since he had never even learned the smith's name, and had not discovered whether or not he could be trusted, but at that moment, the man was their only chance. "Please," Arthur called out, his breath catching and panting as he ran towards the smith, "please, you must know how to get out of here!"

The smith only stared at him, his eyes glancing back and forth between Arthur's desperate face and Alfred's tall, lumbering body. Though his face was ashen white, he looked only confused, not shivering in horror at what he saw. "What?" he asked slowly.

Arthur stumbled over himself as he struggled to keep Alfred upright, coming to an unsteady halt before the smith. "Please," he said again. It was not a word he was used to using, but there was no other choice. The voices of their pursuers were echoing off of the walls. "Please, you have to help us."

"I…" The smith looked between them again. For several long seconds, he said nothing, and Arthur felt terror settling hard and cold in his stomach. They had no time to wait. He should have kept running, not stopped to ask for help from some stranger, not when he had Alfred, inhuman Alfred, leaning and dying against him-

"There's an entryway in the back of the city." The smith's voice was quiet, harsh, and it was obvious in his expression that he was not sure of what he was doing, yet his words did not waver. "Not even an entryway, really. It's a hole, small, hidden, but it is there. Follow this road, and when you come to the wall turn left. The gap is still a ways away." His eyes flicked up towards Alfred again, focused on white eyes and slightly visible teeth, and then down to the wounds littering his chest and stomach. Turning back towards Arthur, the smith shook his head. "I don't think you will be able to make it."

Arthur smiled. It hurt his cheeks. "We have to try." The cries of the townspeople behind them were getting louder, and Arthur knew that soon enough they would be in sight. Still, he hesitated for a moment. "Thank you," he said, meeting the smith's gaze.

But the smith stepped away, shaking his head again. "Don't thank me." His mouth twisted, pressed into a conflicted line. "Just go." When Arthur did not immediately move, those tight lips turned down into a scowl. "I said go!"

There was nothing else to do but obey. Arthur did his best to hold Alfred up in a steady position and began to stagger forward, quickly breaking into a stumbling, awkward run. Alfred's legs threatened to buckle with every step they took, but Arthur didn't waver. The roar of the crowd behind them was drowned out by the sound of their harsh breathing. The stones lining the roadways caught at their toes. They staggered and tripped and stumbled and yet did not fall. Arthur's eyes were beginning to blur with exhaustion, barely able to see anything but the continuous patterns of stone beneath their feet. Alfred was growing heavier with every step he took.

Almost suddenly, the rows of perfect buildings parted, and Arthur's knees nearly gave out as he came to a halt and stared up at the towering wall of Almsloch. It loomed high overhead, casting its long, dark shadow down over the street where Arthur and Alfred stood. The alarm bells still tolled in the distance, and even as Arthur forced himself to remain upright, he felt as though he should have been cowing down in front of the might of the wall. It seemed almost to stretch higher and higher as he stared, threatening to block out the sky itself. Arthur's heart stuttered in his chest. The burns on his hands and arms throbbed in time. His body trembled. The wall was watching him, trapping him, encasing him in its thick, unyielding stone. He could feel it.

"Arthur…?"

The quiet whisper broke through his panicked mind, and with that word alone, the wall was once again just a wall, tall and strong but not staring back. Arthur turned his head to the side, meeting Alfred's milky white eyes. He swallowed heavily. "Yes," he replied softly. He had no idea what he was answering, but it seemed like the right word to say. Alfred's gaze slipped out of focus once more and Arthur readjusted his hold.

And they turned to the left and ran again. Arthur's legs cried out with every step. He had never run so far and so fast in all his life. His eyes searched across every inch of wall that they passed alongside, desperate to find that small opening the smith had mentioned. If they somehow managed to run right past it, they would have no chance of escape. The words of a prayer rose to the surface of Arthur's mind as he almost collapsed beneath Alfred's weight. They nearly slipped out of his mouth before he sealed his lips shut. There was no one to turn to but himself, not right then, not within those white walls. He straightened his back and kept moving forward. If he were to give up, he would die. Alfred would die. Neither of those choices was acceptable. The stone rushed past them as they ran.

There- in the wall up ahead. For a moment, Arthur thought his weary eyes were tricking him, but when he focused them as well as he could, he found himself staring at something that was not merely the outline of stones. No, there was something there… Or rather, there was something missing. His heart leaped against his ribs, and a new burst of energy shot through his tired legs. That was it. That was their way out. "Come on, Alfred," he cried out, voice hoarse but unbroken. "We're almost there."

Time seemed to slow as they made those last few steps. The screams of their pursuers, the thunder of hundreds of feet racing across stone, filled the air with one long storm of a note. Arthur could feel every muscle in his body moving as he came to a stop, as he shifted Alfred off his shoulder and pressed him through the hole that was barely wide enough to manage his size, as he turned to look back over his shoulder at the crowd behind him. He could see the strands of his hair as they whipped around with the motion of his neck. Every heartbeat, every breath, was an eternity as he took in the sight of the city folk and the guards that moved towards him. He blinked once, twice. He exhaled.

And everything was back to normal, and Arthur lunged through the hole in the wall just as the leader of the crowd, a guard dressed in thin white armor, reached out to grasp at him. He did not waste a second once he was past the border of Almsloch. Reaching out to where Alfred was half-kneeling, half-crouched on the ground, Arthur began to pull him along again. "We can't stay here." Sure enough, there were guardsmen pouring one by one through the opening in the wall behind them.

Now, though, they were not trapped in the pure white streets of Almsloch, but rather at the border of the thick forest that grew all around the northern parts of the kingdom. The trees did not follow any of the kind of order that roads did, and Arthur felt a thrill of hope in his aching chest that the undergrowth and tangled roots and branches of the woods might help them lose their pursuers. It was only a faint hope, but a hope that he needed, that his feet relied on to keep pressing forward even as Alfred slumped against him once more. He could hear the clink of the guards' chainmail as he led them hastily through the forest. Leaves and branches scraped at his arms and hands. He ignored the sharp bursts of pain. There was no time for them.

It was as he was hurriedly helping Alfred over a fallen log that Arthur first smelled it. The scent was unlike anything he'd ever smelled before. Salty was the word that came to his mind, but he pushed the thoughts aside as one of the guards came into his line of sight. He pulled Alfred further along into the woods, not thinking of where he was going or what could be waiting for them, simply that they needed to escape. The salty smell caught his nose again as he stumbled around a particularly large tree trunk, dragging Alfred behind him, and for one brief second he was distracted.

That moment was all it took. Arthur's next step did not connect with ground, and he had barely enough time to glance downwards before he found himself falling, rolling and tumbling down a steep bank of dirt and mud and grass. His burns stung as the muck touched them, severe enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he couldn't stop his own body's momentum. The pain dragged on and on, far longer than the hill should have been, yet finally he landed in a heap at the bottom, the back of his skull slamming down into something hard. He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his hands to his forehead, trying to block out the powerful ache in his head and the needles of pain in his limbs. Everything hurt. His ears were ringing, and he could not seem to focus on his own thoughts. But-

Alfred. Panic shot through him, and he struggled to sit up, his arms giving away beneath him. Where was Alfred? His gaze was blurry no matter how much he tried to clear it. He could barely see. His dirty, burned, bleeding hands searched out blindly across the ground around him. The dirt beneath them felt strange, too thin and granular, but he didn't linger on it. "Alfred?" he whispered, as loud as his voice could manage. "Alfred?" His fingers touched something that might have been cloth. "Alfred?"

The cloth-like material stirred, and something almost human groaned out in pain. "Arthur…?" A warm, solid, but weak hand felt its way over Arthur's fingers and settled upon them. Arthur choked out a relieved sigh. Faintly, he could hear scuffling and voices overhead, and he knew that the guards were still there, that they could still easily be found, and that there was no way he could lift himself up to flee again. There was no fear this time. He was too weary, drowning in too much pain to feel that fear. He allowed his eyes to slip shut.

The sounds from above softened, faded away, and he felt his body relax into the strange dirt beneath him. Not even his fingers would twitch at his command. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Just before his mind could slide away into that restful darkness, though, Arthur heard the quiet sound of boots crunching into the ground beside him. "Well, well," said an amused, heavily accented voice, "what do we have here?"

Arthur cracked one bleary eye open and found himself staring at a pair of leather and fur-covered feet. Unable to move his head or neck, he slid his gaze as high as he could, and for one last moment before everything went dark, he thought he saw skin covered in vibrant green scales.

* * *

A/N- It's been a very long time, hasn't it? I could say a million things to excuse myself, but I won't. Who would want to hear it? Certainly not me.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's the longest as of yet, and by that I mean it is the longest by far. It's over 7k words.

Here's to hoping the next chapter won't take quite so long to get out, eh? And feel free to leave your guesses about what will happen next. I really enjoy hearing what you think.


	8. Chapter 7: Prelude to Paradise

There was a cool wind rushing across his face. Its salty scent made his nose twitch. It wasn't unpleasant, not by any means, but it was strange, unfamiliar. Unwilling to open his eyes quite yet, he shifted upon the hard bunk beneath him, rolling his shoulders as he tried to find a more comfortable position. His arms began to ache as they moved. Arthur ignored them.

The bunk rocked below him, and something creaked above his head. His brows furrowed. Solid ground should not have been able to move like that. He would have passed it off as the remnants of a dream, but it happened again, gentle but definitely there, and as he focused his senses on that he heard the sound. It was not exactly a strange one, the sound of water lapping at the edge of something, yet it seemed far too loud to him. That noise, combined with the creaking he kept hearing, left him confused and worried. Where was he? It was more than past time to open his eyes.

His eyelids were heavy, but he forced them open, blinking against the light. It was too bright for any kind of bedroom. As his gaze adjusted, he attempted to sit up. His arms and hands protested and he sank back down with a low groan. He lifted one arm up, running his fingers lightly around his tired eyes. His hand felt strange against his skin, even through the throbbing pain, and he frowned as he pulled it away from his face for a better look. He drew in a sharp breath at the sight. Nearly every inch of skin was wrapped in messy cloth bandages. He lifted his other hand. It was wrapped the same way. The pain radiating from beneath the bandages grew more and more potent as he focused on them. Dreading what he would find beneath, he tugged at the end of one bandage, unraveling it from the mess of wrapping.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Arthur bolted upright, managing to ignore the pain that shot up his arms as he whirled to face the source of the voice. He nearly fell back down as the ground beneath him rolled again, but he forced himself to remain sitting. The light, so blinding before to his weary eyes, had faded back to normalcy, and he found himself staring at a man unlike any he had before seen. His gaze traveled across the odd cloth and thick fur of the man's clothing, up to his windswept hair and the braids that held some of it away from the tangle, and finally came to a shocked halt upon his face and neck. Arthur could not keep himself from gaping. The man's skin looked to be dark with a tan, but there was very little plain skin to see. Over half of his face and strong neck were covered with winding patterns of green ink, patterns that curled into spirals and struck out sharp angles across the planes of skin.

The painted man chuckled, crossing broad arms over his chest. "Not expecting to see me, were you? Not many do." His voice was heavily accented in a way Arthur had never before heard, but he spoke the common tongue with ease.

Swallowing heavily, Arthur tried to shuffle himself backwards across the strange, hard ground beneath him. His left arm buckled with pain as he tried to lean his weight on it, though, and he was forced to simply draw his knees closer up to his chest in a weak attempt at defense. Gusts of salty wind pulled at his hair and clothing. "Who are you? What do you want?" A glint of sunlight caught at the edge of the painted man's belt, and Arthur shivered at the sight of the axe that hung there.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Who am I? That doesn't really matter, but if you want a name, you can call me Mikkel. What I want, though, is more important." He was still smiling, but Arthur did not think it was entirely friendly. "I want to know what you were doing with this." One gloved hand dipped down into the pouch hanging in front of his axe and drew out a small, strangely familiar book. Arthur's eyes widened in recognition. Memories of the past several days came flooding back into his mind. Mikkel held the book out towards him. "This is not something one carries around by accident. Where did you find it? What were you planning to do with it?"

Instead of cowing him, the aggressive tone sparked Arthur's own temper. "I had no plans for it. I don't even know what it is." He glared across the small distance between them, unable to keep his eyes from flicking back to that small red book.

Mikkel's smile dropped, and the intensity that flared in his gaze was nearly enough to send Arthur shuffling back again. He shook the book more menacingly. "I do not believe you. No one should have known where this was hidden. It was not meant to be found again."

"Well then, perhaps you should not have hidden it in a library!" Arthur snapped. He could feel his arms trembling beneath him, but he refused to back down. "It was right there, sitting on the shelf. Anyone could have found it. It was simple coincidence that I was the one who came across it. I can't even read the language." He shook his head harshly. "How should I know what it is?"

For a long moment, Mikkel said nothing. The silence was broken only by the constant, soothing noise of water and the creaking above their heads. Arthur glanced briefly to the side, taking in the sight of a wide expanse of rolling blue, before returning his gaze to Mikkel. He would worry about the water surrounding him once he was finished with the man carrying an axe. His hands clenched into aching fists against the wood below.

Then Mikkel's face broke out into a wide smile, and he tucked the book back into the pouch at his side. Arthur stared at him helplessly as he settled his hands on his hips. "I knew you couldn't have known." He turned to look somewhere to the side, calling out, "I told you he would not know."

"We had to be certain," a quiet voice replied. Arthur glanced over at the source, and stared at the two other men who stood there at the bow of what he now knew to be a ship. They were both dressed in the same fashion as Mikkel, with braids tied in parts of their hair, and with various patterns of green ink covering the exposed patches of their skin. Both seemed to be shorter than Mikkel, but they looked no less fearsome. The one who had spoken stared at Arthur for a few seconds before speaking again. "He did have the pendant."

"The pendant?" Arthur thought back to the small golden sun, before a sudden thought shot through his mind and he lurched forward, ignoring the pain that ran up his arms. "Alfred! Where is Alfred? What did you do to him? If you-"

"Calm yourself," growled the third painted man. His lips twisted up into a half smile. "Turn around. Right behind you."

Arthur blinked at him. "What? But…" He turned, and there, beyond the jut of the mast, sat Alfred, cross-legged at the stern of the ship. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his long leather coat was missing, and he looked most uncomfortable, but Arthur could not see any bonds holding him in place. "Alfred?"

Alfred nodded jerkily, his shoulders hunching as he tightened the cross of his arms. "Yes."

"You…" Arthur breathed out a long, heavy sigh. Some of it was relief. If Alfred was there, and seemingly well, they likely had no reason to fear the painted men for the moment. But the rest of his emotions… "You utter devil."

"What?" Alfred snapped back as if Arthur had hit him, his blue eyes- no longer that horrible, deathly milky white- wide with shock.

Arthur's lips slid down into a scowl. "You let me sit there, unaware of your presence, believing that I was in danger? You could have called out to me. I thought I was going to die, or at least be injured!" He slammed one hand down onto the wooden deck, and winced as his bandaged hand and arm jolted in pain.

Alfred looked down at the bandages, then up at Arthur's expression, and turned his face to the side, out towards the gentle waves. "They told me I had to stay silent. They told me not to say a word to you."

"Or what? What could they have done to someone like you?"

"Not to me." Alfred's voice was barely loud enough to hear. "They said they would kill you." He looked back at Arthur again, his brows drawn tight together over his narrowed eyes. "You saved my life. You could have left me behind, but you took me with you. I could not let them kill you."

"Oh." Arthur couldn't seem to find anything more to say. His hands throbbed. He turned his gaze down to them. It was far easier to look at messy bandages than at those vibrant eyes. He could feel their stare burning into his head.

A low laugh rumbled up behind him, and Arthur turned to glare balefully at Mikkel, who simply grinned back. His arms were once again folded comfortably across his chest. "Now your reunion is over, we'll be on our way once more. Neither of you are going to die, not by our hands, but neither of you are free to leave. You, big man- Alfred, if what your friend said is true- look like a natural swimmer, yet somehow I doubt even you could swim an ocean, and though you might be a priest, small man, I have never met a Church man who knew how to sail one of our ships."

Arthur frowned. "My name is Arthur, and I am not a small man."

The third painted man, the one with the silvery hair, shrugged. "You have small muscles and no inkings. You are small. Small man Arthur." His speech was much thicker, the flow awkward and broken by a tongue that obviously did not know much of the language it spoke.

"Do not try to escape unless you wish to die out here," warned the second man in his quiet, though still accented, voice. "You cannot sail without our help, and you cannot swim without drowning or being eaten by one of the ocean's creatures. Stay and you will live." He regarded them with cold eyes before turning away to stalk over to one of the ropes attached to the sides of the ship. His long cape snapped in the ocean breeze. The pale-haired man followed him.

"Wait!" Arthur called out. Neither man looked back at him, so he turned instead to Mikkel. "Where are you taking us? What is going on?"

Mikkel shook his head, still smiling. "That does not matter. You are here, on our ship, because you had the book and the big man, Alfred. If you did not have them, you would not be here. We would not have bandaged your wounds if we wanted you to die. That's all you need to know." Though the words were light, there was a curt undertone beneath them, and with another shake of his head, he moved toward his two fellows at the side of the ship.

Arthur watched him go, his hands clenched where they rested upon the wooden deck beneath him, ignoring the pain and the salty air and even Alfred behind him as he focused on the helplessness of their situation. No matter which way he thought about it, the painted men were right. He could not swim an ocean- he doubted that Alfred could, either- and he had no more than a very limited knowledge of ships. They were trapped. He let out a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against his bent knees.

"Arthur." Alfred's voice was still quiet, yet Arthur could tell that it came from nearer than before. As much as he wanted to remain angry at the earlier deceit, he could not help but feel comforted by Alfred's presence there, even if Alfred seemed to have no escape plans either.

He sighed again. "I'm not upset."

"I know." Though he could not hear the motion, Arthur could feel Alfred lean up against the mast in the center of the ship. Alfred's body radiated warmth. It was a welcome change from the brisk ocean air. "I should not have kept silent, though. I should have-"

"You were doing what you thought was right," Arthur interrupted, winding his arms carefully around his knees. "I would have done the same, no doubt." The words felt awkward as they rolled off his tongue, and he quickly grasped at another topic. The pain in his arms was good for that. "I suppose I do need to thank them for bandaging my wounds."

Alfred gave a hum of agreement. "They looked bad." When Arthur turned to face him, his mouth opening to voice a question, Alfred nodded sharply to cut him off. "I awoke while one of them was tending to me, and I saw your arms as they were wrapped. You're badly burned."

"So I assumed." Arthur flexed the fingers of his right hand, wincing at the pain that ran through his arm. "That is what comes of grabbing a torch from the wrong end." He looked up at Alfred's bright eyes again. "But how are you, Alfred? I saw what that priest did to you. You said these men tended to you as well. How are your wounds?"

"I'll live," Alfred replied simply. One hand pressed against his tattered, stained shirt, over where bandages must have been layered around his chest and stomach. His gaze slid out over the rolling water, staying focused on the waves and refusing to meet Arthur's eyes.

Arthur frowned, but did not try to ask more. He had seen enough during their escape from Almsloch to know what kind of wounds lay beneath that shirt. All he could think of was that horrifying sight, the flames and the books and those long claws and blood, his blood and Alfred's blood and the priest's blood. He shuddered and did his best to push the memory aside. That was in the past. The future was what mattered now. Besides, Alfred was not human- Arthur had no idea if his body worked the same as a human's would, whether or not it would heal differently. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to settle his thoughts. One in particular stuck out to him.

"Speaking of that priest, how did you know where to find me?" he asked, opening his eyes again and looking back beyond the central mast at Alfred. "How did you even enter Almsloch? And how did you get there right when I…" He hesitated, unsure of his words, before continuing quietly. "Right when I needed you the most?"

Alfred met his gaze directly this time, his brows lowered. "I smelled it. I was about to leave the area, but then I smelled that strange scent again, the one I've noticed before, and so I stayed to search for it." His lips turned down into a confused scowl, and Arthur realized with some shock that Alfred's cheeks had reddened slightly, though it was barely noticeable under the long fringe of his hair. "Then I smelled the fire. It… I knew you were inside the city, and I was not sure where the fire had started. I don't know why I came after you. I was lucky just to get inside and to the library without raising an alarm. I had no idea where I was going. I simply followed the scent of burning. It was pure chance, pure luck." The words deepened his embarrassed grimace.

"But you found me," Arthur murmured.

"I found you," Alfred replied slowly, "and then you saved my life."

Arthur could not help but smile wryly at that. "Only after you saved mine. I suppose that makes any debts even between us."

His attempt at lightheartedness did not seem to work. Alfred only titled his head slightly, eyes narrowed. "Why did you save me? Why didn't you leave me behind? I am not like you. You told me so before. Why would you save the life of a demon?"

"Because," Arthur snapped, feeling suddenly strained and tired. He had no better answer, and something about those questions stung. "Because, that's why. I could not just leave you to die there, no matter what you may or may not be. I ran and I brought you with me. That is all that happened. That is all that matters." Turning away from Alfred and his bright eyes and difficult questions, he shifted around until he could lay back down on the hard planks of the wooden deck without harming his bandaged hands. The boat rocked beneath him, but he did his best to ignore it, clenching his eyes closed and curling up as tightly as he could. He had no real desire to nap, yet even that seemed better than trying to continue the conversation.

For a long while, the world around him was quiet save for the rhythmic ebb of the waves and the soft voices of the three painted men further down the boat. Arthur's somewhat halfhearted attempt at sleep began to work as the soothing sounds washed over him. The constant ache in his arms faded with each slow breath he took. His clenched eyes relaxed. Right as he was about to drift away into peaceful rest, though, he heard a quiet, breathy sigh.

"Thank you."

Arthur did not open his eyes, but the temptation of sleep had completely vanished. He curled his hands into tight fists and focused on the pain instead of those soft words. Simple pain was much easier to understand.

The day was spent in silence between the two of them, an awkward, uncertain silence that lay heavily in the air. The painted men did not say much to them either, only approaching to offer food and water taken from what must have been a small cargo hold beneath the low deck, or to give them wary looks and mutter sharp words in a foreign language. Time passed slowly out on the rolling seas. The sun seemed to inch its way along its route. Clouds passed leisurely across the sky in constantly expanding groups, casting long shadows down over the waves.

Arthur had given up on his fake sleeping attempts long before, and moved himself over to the side of the ship, nibbling at a piece of hard, strangely spiced bread that Mikkel had given him. He could not come quite close enough to the edge of the ship to lean comfortably against it, due to the several oars stacked there, but he had finally settled himself in a position that at least did not strain his injured hands or arms. He stared out at the ocean before him, his thoughts churning along with the water and his own stomach. The sun was beating viciously down against what little was exposed of his arms and the back of his neck, and he relished in the wind that was picking up to rush around the ship.

He had been studiously ignoring Alfred for what must have been hours by then. He knew that the man had not moved much, and that he was still seated somewhere over by the mast, which, on such a small, narrow ship, meant he was only a foot or two away, but Arthur was not willing to try speaking with him again, not yet. He still had no better answers than the first time. There were no reasons for him to saved Alfred, only that he knew he had to do it. Leaving him behind had not been an option.

Closing his eyes, Arthur pushed on past those thoughts. He had gone over them again and again, and he was still no closer to what he wanted. Something else to occupy his mind was necessary. He turned his thoughts to another memory, that of the demon priest, of the flickering flames and the crackle of burning books and the smell of smoke- He shuddered and breathed in the salty ocean air. The priest was what he needed to ponder, not the fire. He ran through the demon man's words again. They were nonsensical, he thought. There was no possible way for a monster like that to have infiltrated the Church without suspicion. The people of Almsloch must have known that they had a demon in their midst.

And that was what worried Arthur, what fed the anxious thoughts that flitted through his brain. The priest had spoken as if he knew he was safe there, as if there was no one who would even try to speak against him. He'd claimed to be the son of the Sun God, and he had seemed to mean every word of it. If that were the case, though… That meant that the priest must have truly been around since the beginning of the Church. Arthur supposed that it was not so improbable, as the Church was young in years compared to the older, pagan religions, but that meant the priest must have appeared younger than his true age. The Church had been started when Arthur was just old enough to walk. If the demon priest had been there at the start, he must have been old enough to be taken seriously by human elders. That would mean he was almost forty years of age, yet he did not look much older than Arthur himself.

For that matter, now that Arthur thought about it, he had no idea of Alfred's age. Alfred looked around the same age as Arthur as well, and if the priest looked that way but was far older, Alfred could have been any age at all. The concept made Arthur's stomach roil uncomfortably. He dismissed it as uneasiness from the ebb and flow of the waves, and turned his thoughts back to the priest.

He wished he had thought to ask the priest's name, though he doubted he would have gotten much of a response. But a name would have helped him check his mental records for anything similar, and with a name, he would have been able to sort out his thoughts more clearly. Thinking about a demon priest left him in the same sort of cloudy panic he'd endured after meeting Alfred. Alfred, the man he had saved, who had saved him… He wrenched his mind away again. He would never get anywhere if he kept returning to those thoughts.

For the moment, Arthur decided, he would remain neutral on his stance about whether or not the priest was the son of the Sky God as he claimed. There was too much he didn't know for him to make an accurate conclusion, and no matter how much he wanted to deny it outright, he did not want the truth to leave him blindsided. He would simply clamp down on his initial urges and keep his mind open- not a simple task at all, really. But it would have to do for the moment. He had no way of obtaining more information while trapped on a ship, and it was doubtful that the painted men would be willing to tell him anything useful or allow him to stop anywhere.

Now that he thought about it, he realized that he actually had no idea where they were. Almsloch was situated near the Great North Sea, so he knew they must have started from there, but he could not have guessed how far they had come from or in what direction. The ocean looked endless no matter which way he turned. Any attempts at figuring out their position with his limited knowledge would have been hopeless.

He leaned forward, resting his arms lightly on top of the stack of oars, and allowed his hands and the morsel of spiced bread they still held to dangle slightly over the side of the ship. The waves were choppier now, their peaks breaking with foam even so far from shore. The sky above was beginning to fill with a mass of gray clouds. He frowned as a much harsher wind whipped past him, tugging at his hair and lashing against his face. A swell of cold water rushed up to where his fingers dangled, and he quickly pulled them and his bread back, turning to look back at the rest of the ship and its current inhabitants. Alfred was still seated with his back to the central mast, his bare arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed, although every visible muscle was far too tense for him to have been asleep. The three painted men were gathered at the prow. Mikkel tilted his head back to look up at the rapidly darkening sky, and with a grunt of annoyance brought his gaze back down to his two crew members and muttered something gruff in their language. The man with the silvery hair nodded, but the other, the one with the cold eyes, shook his head and snapped something back. Mikkel visibly bristled, and without further warning the air was filled with loud arguing and what Arthur knew must have been curses. It did not look like they would be stopping at any time soon.

Feeling helpless, Arthur looked back over at Alfred, and found himself staring not at the closed eyelids he had been expecting, but at dark, stormy blue eyes. Arthur's mouth slid open, then closed, no sounds coming out, and with a frustrated shake of his head he dropped his gaze to the tiny piece of bread clutched in his hands. The helpless feeling was overpowering now. He had been speechless around Alfred before, he was sure of it, but it had never been like this. Everything had changed since their escape from Almsloch. He still was not sure quite how much.

"A storm is coming," Alfred said quietly, his voice gruff but still somewhat awkward. Arthur took some comfort in knowing that at least he was not the only person unnerved by these changes.

As if the sky above had heard, a fat droplet of water landed and burst on the deck by Arthur's feet. He stared down at it, brows furrowed, and looked back up at Alfred. "A storm indeed," he said under his breath, then stood up and made to move towards the painted men at the prow. He needn't have bothered. Before he could take more than a step, Mikkel and the cold-eyed man were striding towards his side of the ship, shoving him out of the way as they passed.

"Storm's coming," Mikkel replied shortly to Arthur's affronted cry. "You may never have been in a storm at sea, but it is not a pretty thing." He grabbed two of the long oars from the stack, pressing one into the hands of his companion. "Sailing will be a struggle until it passes us by."

"What will happen?" Arthur demanded.

The cold-eyed man scowled at him. "The seas will rise," he intoned, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver rolling down Arthur's spine. "The winds will tear at us, and the waves will try to toss our ship and break our mast and pull us down below. We will soak, and the ship will soak, and you will see things in the water that you have never believed existed, and if we fail to make it to the other side of the storm, they will swallow you before you have a chance to scream."

Arthur stared at him, eyes wide, heart pounding. Mikkel nodded. "It will be in all of our best interests if you were to help us stay afloat. You are too small and untrained to row, but I have no doubt you know how to wield a bucket." He pushed past Arthur again and strode over to the end of the stack of oars, right at the stern of the ship, and reached down to grab a small wooden bucket, which he handed to Arthur's unresisting fingers when he came close enough. He immediately turned to Alfred. "You though, big man, can wield an oar."

Alfred frowned at him, rising from his seat against the mast. "Why should I?"

"You don't want to drown, do you?" When Alfred's frown deepened, but he did not reply, Mikkel grinned wryly. "I thought as much. Here." He tossed an oar to Alfred, who caught it easily.

"Wait a second, why can Alfred row and not me?" Arthur snapped, waving his worn bucket. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Bail," said the silver-haired man, stepping forward to grab an oar of his own. "Take water from ship, throw it into ocean." He mimed the motion with one hand.

Mikkel nodded again. There was a hard edge to his smile. "Exactly. If our ship gets too full of water, we will sink. This is not a job we give you for no reason." The rain began to fall in earnest, heavy droplets pouring down over all of them. The boat rocked back and forth, creaking faintly, as the waves below grew larger. "This rainfall could be the death of us."

Arthur scowled, looking down at his bucket through his now soaked bangs. "Then why do you need me to do it? Would it not be better to have one of your own men here to do the job?"

The cold-eyed man favored him with a glare. "We would have outrun this storm if we had not stopped to bring you aboard and bandage your wounds. This was not something we'd prepared for." With that, he turned and stalked the few feet to the other side of the narrow ship, his oar nearly hitting Arthur in the side of the head as he passed.

"Eirik is right," Mikkel said sternly. "You may not have asked for our help, but we gave it, and now you are here with us and you must take up the same duties as any of the rest of us." He hefted his oar over one shoulder, the green markings around his eyes making his stare seem even sharper. "You would hold us back the most in rowing, small Arthur, so you will bail. If you were stronger like your friend, one of us would bail. That is how it works." Waiting only until Arthur's shoulders had slumped with unwanted understanding, he turned his gaze over to Alfred. "You will stay here, on the starboard side, with Lukas. I will be rowing with Eirik over there. Listen to anything I yell out, pay attention to the sea, and try to survive." He clapped one strong hand on Alfred's arm and strode through the downpour over to the cold-eyed man, Eirik.

Alfred watched him go, eyes wide. "He isn't afraid of me," he said quietly, wonderingly. "He touched me without flinching- without having any reason to touch me."

"Yes, I noticed," Arthur muttered, brushing aside the wet fringe of hair that hung into his eyes. He felt abruptly embarrassed, almost guilty, and he was opening his mouth to say something more when a bolt of brilliant light suddenly pierced the dark sky overhead. A distant roar rumbled through the clouds.

"Ah, and here she is." Mikkel laughed, a deep grumble that rolled out over the waves in the same way the thunder had, even as his voice was whipped away by the violent wind. "Put the oars to the sea, boys!"

Arthur stumbled backwards as the ship rocked to one side. His arm collided painfully with the wet wood of the mast, and he clung to it as he regained his balance, his bandaged fingers slipping and catching on splinters. The bucket clattered against his side, but he somehow managed to keep a grip on the old rope handle. The rain was heavy enough to blind him. He squinted through it, trying to see what was happening on the rest of the ship. A few feet ahead on starboard side he could faintly make out the rain-blurred silhouette of a seated man with an oar, and in front of him an even blurrier figure. He could not tell which one was Alfred. The port side was no better, simply another two rowing figures. Not even the lightning that flashed overhead could illuminate them through the downpour.

He opened his mouth, about to call out to either Alfred or Mikkel as best he could over the rushing winds and water, when the ship rocked again, more forcefully this time, and a wave came rolling up and over the side and crashed down upon the deck. Arthur would have been sent sprawling had he not been holding on. From the figures up ahead came muffled curses in two languages. Water sloshed around on the deck, nearly sweeping Arthur's legs out from under him as another wave struck the ship. Salty spray stung his eyes and burned up his nose. He coughed and spluttered, holding tight to the mast.

"Arthur!" Mikkel's voice yelled from somewhere in front of him, and Arthur tried once again to peer through the rain and see where he sat. It was no more use than his first attempt. "Bail the water. You cannot let it sink us!"

Thunder rolled overhead, much louder this time, and Arthur strained to make his voice heard over it. "I can't let go! I'll be thrown overboard!" A wave broke across the starboard side. Arthur lost his footing, and with a sharp cry found himself falling to the deck, landing on his bandaged arms. The pain that shot up through him was almost enough to make him faint, but the cold, splintery edge of the bucket he had partially landed upon kept him from fading completely. Cold water slapped against his body and face as the ship rocked dangerously from side to side.

"Bail!" someone shouted through the storm, just as lightning flared above.

For that one moment, the scene stood in stark relief. Arthur saw all four of the rowing men, all twisted as their oars dipped into the choppy waters, their muscles straining, their bodies drenched with rain and seawater. He saw the violent waves and the soaking sides of the ship. He saw the water that swirled around his prone form, growing deeper every time a wave broke over the side. His fingers ached where they grasped the rope handle of the bucket.

His stomach churning with nausea, Arthur struggled back to his feet. He nearly fell back to the deck when the ship lurched sideways, but he planted himself as firmly as he could and bent down to slosh his bucket into the pooling water. The chill bit at his fingers. With a mighty heave, he lifted the heavy bucket and swung it out over the side of the ship, the water inside splashing out over the waves. He thought for a moment that he saw a flash of something dark and scaled roiling beneath the waves, but it was gone when he blinked. His stomach churned again. He ignored it and bent back down. He could hear the thunder, the roar of the waves, the slap of oars hitting the water, his own harsh breathing, and his hands ached even through the freezing numbness. Lightning illuminated the world around him in sharp bursts, but he did not look up. Everything was narrowed down to his bucket and his hands and the slosh of water around his feet as he struggled to keep himself standing. Even the stinging rain seemed to fade away.

Bend, pull, and throw. Arthur focused on the motion and that alone. Bend, pull, and throw. The rhythm dulled the strain and the panic and the pain. Bend, pull, and throw.

The storm raged on overhead. The water splashing around his feet seemed never-ending, as if he was trying to bail out the ocean itself. The wind whipped his hair against his face, the rain blinded him every time he blinked. Every sound was beginning to meld together into a constant growling pulse. He thought he saw another flash of scales when lightning flared. He closed his eyes and bent and threw again.

It might have been mere minutes, it might have been hours- Arthur had lost track of time long before. His fingers shook as he emptied the bucket out over the side of the ship once again. He nearly reached back down to bail another load when he realized with muddled confusion that the ship was not rocking quite as fiercely anymore, and that the wind had settled to strong but no longer violent gusts. Even the sky looked a little brighter. He squinted up at the clouds.

"Well, boys, it looks like we made it." Mikkel's voice was hoarse and rough, and when Arthur glanced over at him, he saw that the man looked no better than he sounded. Every inch of him seemed ready to slump forward for a well-earned rest. They all did, Arthur realized as he looked around at the rest of the strange crew- none were any less tired than he himself. It stirred up a faint feeling of pride in his chest, despite the stinging ache in his arms and the nasty wet cling of his clothes.

After a brief check of the ship for any lasting damage and a quick reading of the clouds overhead, the painted men began to stow the oars away, taking one from Alfred and relieving Arthur of his bucket. His hands felt oddly empty without it there. He watched the rest of them for several minutes, wanting to offer his help but well aware that he would only get in the way, before breathing out a long sigh and leaning back against the wet, splintery mast. It may as well have been soft cushions for how good it felt right then. Alfred stared at him, wide-eyed, as he gave in to temptation and slid down the mast to sit at its base. He rested his throbbing arms carefully on his lap.

"Small Arthur has good plan," silver-haired Lukas announced, striding over to sit down at the mast as well, the side of his shoulder pressing against the back of Arthur's shoulder blade.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "For the last time, I am not small."

Lukas only shrugged and settled back. It was not the most comfortable position in which to sit, but they were both far too tired to care. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur thought he saw a flicker of a smile pass across Alfred's mouth. The pride in his chest swelled further, though he had no idea why, and he closed his eyes in an effort to block it out.

"You did well for two untrained boys." Arthur cracked his eyelids open again to see Mikkel grinning, crossing his arms over his soaked chest. He looked ridiculously jovial once again. Arthur supposed that meant the danger had passed for the moment. "You would make fine sailors with a few lessons, I bet." Eirik grunted something that might have been an approval.

Alfred stepped forward. "Teach me, then. I want to learn how to sail a ship like this." Arthur stared up at him in shock. From the silence around him, he guessed that the painted men were feeling the same. But Alfred did not cow away. "I want to learn. You're not afraid of me, you have not run away, so teach me how to sail."

Mikkel looked him up and down, eyebrows raised. "You are definitely strong enough. I've never taught one of your kind before, though. Things might work differently for you." He fell silent, eyeing Alfred with the sharp gaze of a man who knew what to search for. The quiet examination lasted for what felt like an eternity. Then his wide grin was back, pulling at the tattoos across his cheeks, and he reached out to clap one hand on Alfred's upper arm. "I'll teach you. It will be fun!"

An awkward, wary, but hopeful smile tugged at the corner of Alfred's lips. He looked as though he was struggling not to flinch away from Mikkel's touch. "Good. I mean, thank you. I will do my best to learn everything."

"Everything?" Mikkel barked out a laugh. "I'm not sure you would be able to learn everything in a year, much less a day or two! But that is the right kind of attitude for a sailor." He grabbed Alfred's arm and pulled him up towards the prow of the ship, his words rolling quick and excited off his tongue as he began to explain something about the wooden deck. Alfred watched and listened with a furrowed brow, nodding wordlessly. The ocean wind whipped the conversation away over the water as they reached the prow.

Arthur was not aware that he had been straining forward to listen until Lukas chuckled and nudged his back. "Small Arthur wants to learn?" he asked with a grin, gesturing out at Mikkel and Alfred. "Learn sailing?"

"What? I-"

"Arthur is not learning anything about sailing until I rewrap his arms," Eirik cut him off sharply. He snatched up one of Arthur's wrists, his fingers gentle despite his harsh tone, and immediately set to undoing the wet, useless bandages there. His hands were deft and sure as they worked. It was obvious that he had been the one to treat them when they were first brought on board.

For a few moments Arthur contented himself with watching in silence. The rhythmic rocking of the ship in the now calmer waters was soothing, but he could not seem to keep his eyes from flicking back up to look at Mikkel and Alfred, and finally he asked, "What about Alfred? Should he not have his wounds looked at again, as well?" The horrible mess of blood and torn flesh that he remembered seemed much more life-threatening than the burns on his arms.

"He will." Eirik did not bother to look up from his work, but he did pause for a second in his wrapping. "He is different than you, you know that. His body works differently. I will look at the damage again later, but for now, you have no need to worry for him. He will be fine."

"I'm not worried," Arthur muttered. "I was only curious." Eirik did not reply to that, only continued with his bandages, but Arthur could not help the feeling that somehow that silence meant more than any pointed words could. He frowned and leaned back against the mast again, careful not to move his arms too much, and stared up at where Alfred was leaning over the prow to look down at whatever Mikkel was showing him.

Scowling to himself, Arthur turned his gaze out over the waves. So he and Alfred had managed to save one another's lives- it meant nothing, it was simply coincidence. He could not believe that even the Sky God would have guided them that way, not that he was quite sure what to think about the Sky God anymore, not after Almsloch.

Now that he thought of Almsloch… He frowned. Mikkel still had that strange book, if the storm had not ruined it. Somehow, just that knowledge was enough to cement his confused thoughts. Arthur might not have known anything about Alfred or these painted men or the sea or the sky and its god, but there was one thing he did know. Books. He had gone through a lot of trouble while getting that specific book out of there, and he had every intention of figuring out just what was inside.

Eirik scolded him angrily for moving, but Arthur paid him no attention. He finally had something to occupy his thoughts that he understood. Everything else could wait.

* * *

A/N- Sorry for the delay. I've been struggling with this chapter, and though it's definitely not my best work, I just had to get it done and move on.

The painted men are the Scandinavian countries. Mikkel is Denmark, Eirik is Norway, and Lukas is Iceland. I know their personalities are probably not perfectly canonical, but I actually haven't seen or read anything canon about them, so I did with them what I wanted. You can tell me whether or not I was wrong if you want, but I won't change it, sorry.

Anyway, I can't promise when the next chapter will be coming out. Cross your fingers and hope for the best. And honestly, guys, thanks so much for sticking with me for such a long time, and I hope you stay around for what's to come.


	9. This is Not a Chapter

First and foremost, this is not chapter. It is an announcement- one I should have made long ago, but which I've been hesitating to say.

I'm toying with the idea of releasing the Prometheus Rising ending, because I'm also toying with the idea of restarting.

"Restarting?" you ask, utterly flabbergasted. "But you've already restarted once! You promised you wouldn't do it again!"

And that, my dears, is very true. However, that promise was also one I could never have kept, just because of who I am. It was stupid of me to make it, honestly, and I do regret doing so.

This is my story, though, and as such it is mine to poke and prod at, to utterly tear to shreds and rebuild from the bottom up. What is "published" right now is not good enough, not nearly good enough- the ending might seem to come from left field, and it shouldn't, because there are some key factors that you should be well aware of by this point in the plot that are _not coming through_. Only one thing should take you off guard- that's intentional, and hopefully you know what I'm talking about- and even then you should realize with varying degrees of surprise that yes, I was hinting at it all along.

I need to fix this. What has been out so far are drafts, I suppose, the first two drafts of a story that could be wonderful but is floundering due to its author's negligence. It needs to have its wounds reopened, to have its bones rebroken, to deal with the necessary pains of repair. Because this will be a good story. Hell, maybe it will even be a great story. It just can't skip the steps necessary to get there.

Believe me when I say that I appreciate every bit of support my friends and readers have given me, and believe me when I say that I expect varied reactions to this announcement. Say what you want- I'll take it all. But most of all, believe me when I say that as amazing as you all are, and as grateful as I am to all of you, I will not force myself to continue this solely to please you. This is my story.

I don't know what shape Prometheus Rising will take in the future. It may have a new name. It may have new characters, new obstacles, new destinations. Certainly it will have a new life.

It's not over.

Only changing.

I can at least promise you that.


End file.
